


In a Blink of an Eye

by Yidenia



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish Elves, F/M, Gen, Slavery, Tevinter Imperium, The Breach - Freeform, The Fade, The Inquisitor and the Warden are related
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yidenia/pseuds/Yidenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Solas betrayed the Inquisition, Ahathriel of the Lavellan Clan left her companions to seek out the Dread Wolf on her own. On the way, she meets a strange elf who knows her more than she knows him, while Fen'Harel has something in particular planned for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Little Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason I liked the idea of the Inquisitor with Fenris more than Hawke. I think it's because I didn't like Dragon Age II very much. The plot was not very tight. Anyway, it's a weird idea I had, and fanfiction is where weird ideas come to life. Sort of. Also, having switched computers for DA:I and started the game without any imports, I noticed that the Warden is Dalish female, and I liked my Dalish mage Inquisitor. Thought I might play around with that too.

The forests of the Planasene were thicker and darker than Ahathriel remembered. She had passed them right before becoming Inquisitor, and the Breach was not so long ago, yet the paths are narrower and more winding, the bushes fuller, and the sparse sunlight struggled to illuminate the long shadows. Perhaps she was too use to Ferelden, where the weather was cooler and the woods less dense.

Or perhaps she had been traveling alone for the very first time, and it just all seemed darker to her now. In her youth, she was always in the company of the Lavellan clan, and then she was in the company of those supporting the Inquisition. There were times when she was flung out to make her way back on her own, but at least she had people to return to.

Now…

Ahathriel shifted the straps of her backpack to adjust the weight on her shoulders. She carried only the essentials: a tent for shelter, a cask for water, a rag to wash, a spoon and knife, and a pot to boil. She wore a cloak that was too warm for the weather, but it would serve her when she ascended to colder mountains. She had a map tucked into her tunic, and a bag of coin.

Her left hand thrummed.

 _"Every so often there would, occasionally, be a mining accident,_ _so we've gotten really good at making these things."_  Lace might have blushed, but Ahathriel had been too miserable and bewildered to notice. _"Prosthetics. This one's custom-made. Figured it only fitting for the hero who saved all of us."_

The hand was made of some kind of stone, pieced together to form joints that moved as smoothly as a real hand would. Save for the texture, colour, and the unyielding hardness, it could have been her own hand. She still felt unnerved by it though, particularly by the runes. She kept expecting to see her own flesh and skin, the green glow of her destiny pulsing from her palm. Seeing the dark stone made her feel a bit like a monster. She could not look at it for long.

 _"You don't have to go alone,"_ Cassandra had said.  _"You don't have to go so soon. Is there no one in your clan who can help you? Is there no one here you can think to bring with you?"_

 _"I am stunned. You must be too,"_  Leliana had insisted.  _"I can see it in your eyes. I know the look, when someone close to you betrays you. It is a wound that takes time to heal. After all that you've done for us, no one will blame you if you take some time to rest and come to terms. I beg of you, do not go. I fear what may happen if you leave in your state."_

_"You think Solas has marked me more than even the Breach. You give him too much credit."_

_"I think you have a lot of love in your heart,"_  Cullen had tried.  _"It is what makes you great, but even you are not immune to grief, and your heart not immune to breaking. Solas knows us well. He knows you well. It makes sense that he would also know how to hurt you."_

 _"Let's not be hasty,"_  Josephine had persuaded.

Ahathriel stared ahead to the shadows that mark her journey's trail.

"No reason to wait," she murmured to herself.

She set forth.

* * *

_"Mahariel use to stand right where you are, watching Denerim."_

_"The Warden?"_

_"She never told me what she was thinking,"_ said the King of Ferelden.  _"I never asked. I always assumed…I don't know. I didn't even assume. I just never cared to ask. There was so much going on. Figured we were all entitled to our moments of solitude. But the last time I saw her there, I think, she was trying to decide whether she should live or die. She never told me."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Grey Warden secret. Hard to explain, but she chose…death, ultimately. I never knew. Now I think I could have stopped her, though back then, it's hard to say. I'm a different man than I use to be. I wasn't King then."_

_"…Why tell me this?"_

_"You remind me of her, you know."_ His Majesty studied her features with a shrewd gaze.  _"It's not just the fact that you were both Dalish. I've studied her face, enough times. I knew her expressions, as well as the back of my own hand. I hardly even see the tattoos anymore. You have the same ears and the same eyes. Small wonder you both became heroes of such esteem. I imagine if defeating the Archdemon hadn't killed her, she would have looked as you do now, staring into an abyss. It doesn't have to be this way. Ferelden will always have a place for you. This palace will always have room for you. You will always have an ally in me."_

_"…You loved her."_

_"We all did, those of us who knew her,"_ he replied.  _"She was easy to love. Easy to admire. She had that aura about her, same as you. One that draws others to follow her lead. There were some moments when I felt like I knew her very well, in between the various missions and errands we had to run. The Blight was a terrible time, but they were some of the best days of my life. But I think she always knew how it would end. There was a line none of us could cross. Heaven knows, Arainai tried."_

_"Zevran Arainai?"_

_"In any case," the King said abruptly, "I don't think you should leave. You are still ill, and there is no emergency that requires you to go out now."_

_"…I can't stay."_

What a King he was, King Alistair. Noble jaw and deep eyes. He had a boyish grin, but he knew more than what he said. Part of her wanted to listen to him, but her false limb thrummed and her heart shuddered. She had to get away.

 _"Mahariel chose to leave because she felt there was no room for her in the world she was saving,"_ he turned away.  _"She's wrong. Those of us who are left behind still grieve. Think of those you would leave behind."_

* * *

 Evening fell. Ahathriel boiled game in the pot, filled with herbs. The tent was set up, her belongings stuffed into one of the corners. With the setting sun, the air had grown chilled. She had a fire going, though, and used it to illuminate her map.

The Waking Sea lied south, which was where she came from. Kirkwall lied east, and would be a few day's journey. Varric was there, and she hoped he would not require too much explanation from her unannounced visit. She did not actually care if he knew, but she did not want to go through the effort of explaining and recounting all the events that led up to here.

 _I am going to Tevinter._ She rubbed her face at the thought.  _That would not go well._

She chose a trajectory for the following day, ate her meal, and stood up to establish wards. By then, the forest was completely dark.

There was a wind which obscured the sounds, but there was a glow of red between the trees.

_That…looks like…_

Grabbing her staff, she slipped from her camp. If there were bandits, the camp could draw them from her person, and she could come upon them later.

It was difficult to navigate so bereft of light; the ground was uneven and twice she nearly twisted her ankle, but eventually she made it close enough to perceive the scene. Red templars. They carried an aura of their tainted lyrium about their angry armor. There were seven of them, attacking a single figure that moved as quickly as a rogue. When he did pause, she could make out that it was a tall male, swinging a broadsword that looked like it weighed three times as much as he did, but he moved it as quickly as any light dagger.

A bright, purple light blazed from his skin, and he suddenly looked like a spirit. He swung his fist toward one templar and yanked. There was a squirt of blood. Another templar obscured her view, forcing the man to whirl around and block.

Ahathriel's prosthetic thrummed again as she considered how to intervene. With the crowd around him, she could hurt him as easily as his attackers if she acted carelessly.

At length, one of the templars lagged behind. She spun her staff, sending a bolt of ice, followed by a spell that froze him in place. The templars, sensing her magic, came upon her in a wave. She summoned a wall of fire to block their way, struck one with lightning and another physically with her staff. The armor protected him, but a hand emerged suddenly through his chest, squeezing a heart that still pulsed.

Ahathriel stepped back, blinking in astonishment. There was another crack, followed by another. Within seconds, the remaining templars were on the ground. Then the broadsword leveled at her neck, right under her chin.

She looked up.

He was still glowing. He was an elf, though taller than most human men. He held the sword with one hand as if it weighed but a feather.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice low and smooth and edged with murderous promises.

Ahathriel blinked, and then honestly had no idea how to answer. She was no longer the Inquisitor, and yet Ahathriel of Lavellan sounded…she had no idea how to answer.

"I didn't realize saving someone's life is a crime around here now," she said instead.

"You give yourself too much credit," he replied. "Answer me, mage, or I won't be this civil." His blade twitched, a calculated move. His control was exquisite.

"…Ahathriel," she finally replied.

It was his turn to blink. He seemed surprised.  _Does he know the name?_

"Can you lower your big sword now?"

"Show me your face."

He was a demanding bastard, Ahathriel decided. Something about him reminded her of Sera, strangely enough. His mannerisms were totally different, but his distrust was very familiar. Sera always found an excuse to see the worst in others. She would not have lowered the sword either, until she got what she wanted. Well, arrow.

Ahathriel moved the hood back slowly, wondering if he would recognize her somehow. The elf's countenance did not change, but something about him seemed less, and then all of the sudden he was no longer glowing.

Pale hair. There were white lines under his chin and around his arms where his skin was bare. His face was mostly hidden, though she made out a strong jaw and a high, proud nose.

"Your name is Ahathriel?" His voice was thoughtful. His sword retracted back a hair.

"Do I get to learn your name?"

He considered her for a moment, and then withdrew his sword entirely, sliding it into the sheath at his back.  

Did he recognize her? Or was it her facial markings? Did seeing that she was Dalish inspire him to feel that she was less of a threat?

"Fenris," he said.

* * *

He followed her back to her camp.

"I don't have an extra tent," she tried. Fenris was not carrying one. In fact, he did not carry anything except his broadsword. She wondered how he expected to survive in the wilderness.

"I did not expect you to."

"Well you're not using mine."

Ahathriel was normally more diplomatic. Sometimes she wondered if she was too soft. At the moment, however, she was not in the mood to be kind. Ironically, the race she was least partial to now was the elves. Between Sera, who was always rather trying to deal with, and Solas, who cut off her arm, humans had actually treated her better recently, had agreed to hail her as their leader, to follow her as she led them against the Breach and against Corypheus. This elf, with his dark brooding demeanor, did not seem any easier to talk to than Sera, nor more trustworthy than Solas. His abrupt about-face when he saw  _her_ face was startling and not something she was willing to cooperate with. If he recognized her, he had yet to call her by any title. If he did not recognize her…the whole thing seemed suspicious.

Fenris kept his pace. "What happened to your arm?"

Ahathriel stared at him, shocked. Words fled for a moment.  _What…did he just…_

Then she wanted to punch him. Strike him down. She reined in the impulse.

"Do not ask me that again."

To his credit, of which he did not have much, Fenris did not ask again. They approached camp, and one of her wards flared up when he tried to cross. Fenris' tattoos lit up, and he appeared a spirit once more, passing through without harm. Ahathriel froze.

He sat down, making himself comfortable. "I will not harm you," he said without looking up. "You don't have to fear me."

"Your greeting said otherwise."

"Do you want an apology? Because if you do, you have it."

She was speechless once more. Fenris finally looked at her.

"Ahathriel," he said. There was something about the way he said it that sounded like the word had clicked into place for him. He raised his hand, as if an attempt to shake hers.

Unnerved, she moved past him without acknowledging him and slid into her tent, smoothing the opening shut.

This elf could move through wards. He could cut down on the tent and she would be utterly defenseless.

She remained awake the entire night.

* * *

_"You act as though you're the solution to every problem. How long before you drag us all into another war?"_

It was ironic, considering that Ahathriel had never even wanted to lead an Inquisition in the first place. It was all Cassandra's idea—or more accurately, it was the late Divine's. She had known that the world she was trying to save would soon forget any of her contributions once she outlived her use. The best ending for a hero was the ultimate sacrifice toward victory. The rest…there was nowhere to go but decline.

She read a lot after the Exalted Council. She studied the Hero of Ferelden. She inspected paintings of the Fifth Blight and discussed her with Blackwall. There were tales of her from the Dalish, of how she had saved them from the werewolves that plagued one of the clans. The city elves sang songs of her, of her long black hair that waved in the wind.

 _I did know. I said as much to Solas._ Ahathriel remembered his amused smile and the look of fondness in his eyes.  _The best heroes are dead ones. Realize your cause with your death and you shall live forever. Survive and you will be tainted and forgotten._

 _"Go north,"_ whispered Morrigan.  _"You are more than the Inquisition. If you wish to find your destiny, look elsewhere. There is war everywhere. A good sword still blunts. Shed your form of a butterfly and emerge a moth; you'll fly just as high and twice as well in the dark."_

But the future was bleak, and Ahathriel knew not where to turn. The Lavellan clan visited Denerim and looked at her as if they did not know her. They hugged and kissed and laughed, and there was so much to say, but when they sat down by the fire, the words caught in her throat. She was their First, once. They knew her as a child, when she ran laughing between the trees along the shimmering brook to chase a minnow. They knew her when she was bent over tomes under the afternoon sun. They knew her when she was fearful of the dark.

They did not know her when she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, when she was surrounded by allies but not friends. When she was the most important person in all of Thedas, and everyone had supported her up to seal the scar in the sky. She had been the only solution to the only problem, and had led willing troops to a war where they might die.

_If I must be a moth when I knew life as a butterfly…perhaps I had better find my flame._

* * *

Fenris was roasting some kind of meat on the spit when Ahathriel emerged from her tent. It was dawn, and she was so tired that the anxiety from the night before seemed pointless to dwell upon.

"You should have slept," he said, looking at her.

In the brightening day, she could see that his hair was actually as white as it looked the evening before. His skin had a golden sheen to it. He looked unlike any elf she had ever seen.

"Why are you still here?"

"You don't know?"

She rubbed her eyes, which itched and felt swollen under her fingers. The shock of her prosthetic over her eyelids made her drop her hands.

"I'm not in the mood to play games, Fenris. Is there something you want, because if there isn't, I suggest we part ways."

Fenris considered her again.

"Tell me how you lost your arm and I'll tell you what you need to know."

Ahathriel inhaled. Again with the arm. "You have issues, ser."

"So I know," Fenris turned the roast, "but I will find out, Ahathriel, one way or another. You might as well tell me."

"Or you can just find out from the rumour mill," she set about dismantling her tent.

"Famous, are we?" He asked after a moment.

 _So he didn't recognize me then._ Ahathriel was not sure what to make of that.

"A friend cut it off." She swallowed the taste of bile that rose with even just that sentence. "Now tell me what you're doing here."

He stared at the spit for a moment, as if internalizing her answer.

"Who?" he asked.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here. I won't ask again."

He glanced at her before looking away again. "I know you don't remember, but we promised we would find each other."

"I've never seen you in my life."

"Not here, perhaps," he replied, "but we've met before."

"Did you have your talents back then?"

His face twisted a little in distaste. "Yes, though I was not able to make much use of them then."

"I think I would remember an elf like you."

"I'd have thought so too. I suppose I did not make a lasting enough impression."

There was a touch of humour there that Ahathriel was not in the mood for.

"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish here, Fenris. All I had wanted to do was help someone from those Red Templars. If this…" she heaved in a sigh. "If this is your way of apologizing for nearly slitting my throat, I assure you, I don't take it personally. I have places to be, though, and I'm sure you do as well. We can shake hands and both be on our way."

"Where are you going?"

"None of your business."

"I can help. There are enough dangers around here that I wouldn't recommend journeying alone."

"You were alone yourself."

"As you saw, I have unique talents."

He looked at her expectantly. It took a minute before she realized he had offered to accompany her.

"No thanks."

"You promised."

"I promised  _what_ , exactly?"  _What is wrong with this man?_

Fenris hesitated. It was the first time she realized he was unsure how to proceed, for all his determination and conviction in his intentions.

"I don't know how to prove this to you, but we've met before. It…it feels like a long time ago but it's not. Not really. You promised you would come with me when…we made it out. I promised the same to you. But then there was the Breach, and the world was in chaos, and I tried to find you but—"

"You're not making any sense. I don't remember promising anyone, or hearing any promises before the Breach. I went to the meeting of the mages to witness the proceedings, and then the Breach happened. There's not a lot of time lost for me to do anything you mentioned."

"Not here, no, but the Fade works differently than here."

Ahathriel hesitated. The Breach. She still could not remember the events themselves, not entirely, and not on her own. She knew what happened, knew that the Divine had been killed by Corypheus, that she had stumbled upon the murder and that Justinia had protected her, summoned her back to the real world, but in between…

Fenris turned away. "I don't know how to convince you."

She studied him. He did not seem to be the kind of person to lie about such things. Straightforward, like the sword at his back, and blunt to the point of being painful. There were easier ways to harm her, to trick her. This story was preposterous. If he had malicious intentions, there were easier ways to gain her trust.

But the gaps in her memory were another weakness that made Ahathriel feel vulnerable, like the trust she had placed in the wrong people and the loss of a limb that had once been life-saving. The prosthetic thrummed, its runes glistening, and she looked down, wondering if it was wise to take a chance. She had become slow to trust now too. She was not sure if this should change.

"Look," the elf finally turned to face her. "I don't know what else to say to convince you, but I'm not going anywhere. You've seen what I can do. There's no use fighting me."

"That's not very reassuring."

"Well you're clearly not reassured by anything else I could say," he had a touch of impatience now. "I mean you no harm. I promise I will protect you. You can't get rid of me unless you fight me to the death. You were always logical enough, surely we can just take things from there?"

Ahathriel did not appreciate his attitude, but his eyes were earnest and he had yet to attack her since their initial meeting. There was sense in what he said, besides, however undiplomatic.

"When did we meet?" she asked.

Fenris looked down. "We met," he stated, "at a castle."

 


	2. Meeting in the Beyond

This was all uncomfortably familiar.

They said the Fade was the world of dreams, and his surroundings did indeed have a dreamlike quality to them. In the sky, he beheld the Black City with all its smog and flickers of lightning. Below, the white fog obscured what lied in the distance. He peered out of the tiny window, heart hammering. This was all uncomfortably familiar, for more than one reason.

Fenris had wandered south, ever since Hawke left Kirkwall. They had all parted ways at Hawke's bequest. It seemed wise, at the time. Hawke was a clear target, and though they all worried about how he might fare on his own, they also knew that the best defense was to remain unseen. Hawke had defeated the Arishok. He was not the Champion of Kirkwall for no reason. Fenris, too, had realized that he wanted to find his own way in life, away from Hawke and the others. He had stayed in Kirkwall for too long. He had relied on Hawke's support for too long.

But the chaos did not lessen as he wandered south. It seemed all of Thedas was in the grip of madness. Mages everywhere, and templars too. Though Fenris would always have a loathing for magic, he had to admit that the knights were just as monstrous.

And now, this.

There were voices, and then a bright light from the sky, a deafening sound that was akin to tearing. Fenris thought at first that it was the sound of his head being ripped apart. The whole world seemed to roll head over heels. The next thing he knew, he was…here.

The walls looked like they were built from stone, but they rippled like water. From the window, he saw little islands, surrounded by mist. This was all uncomfortably familiar.

This was all uncomfortably familiar.

 _My lovely Leto. My beauty._ The air hissed in his ear. Fenris yanked back, but something stopped him short—chains. His wrists were cuffed. He looked up and realized he was cuffed to the wall, his wrists forced high above his head and his legs wide apart. The stone chafed at his skin. His breath quickened as he tried to thrash. This was all horrifyingly familiar.

_"Did you miss me, Leto?"_

"No!" Fenris cried out. He remembered this. They were memories that were once banished, but he remembered this. He felt the stroke of fingers along his waist and screamed.

 _"Yesssss…"_ Danarius licked at the point of his left ear.  _"Scream for me, my pet. I can smell your fear. It is **exquisite**."_

The world flashed, and something struck him in the stomach. He was flung back and fell on his scabbard. Before him, a girl scrambled to her feet, muttering some sort of gibberish. She dropped to a crouch when she saw him and said something else that sounded like nonsense.

Heart still hammering, Fenris could only stare speechlessly at her.

She was an elf, slender and slight. Her long black hair hung down her back in a train of elegant braids. She had markings on her face like Merrill. A Dalish elf. Her eyes were deep and fearless, but wary. It was a lovely face. Fenris wondered if she was a Desire demon.

"What is this?" Danarius' voice laughed. Fenris whirled around to face the man that still haunted his nightmares. "Another little morsel?"

Fenris blinked and finally remembered himself. He was not Leto. He was not a slave. Raising his arms, he drew his broadsword. He knew the figure before him was not Danarius, but he was not opposed to cutting the image down. He would do it again and again and again and pretend that it was Danarius, being defeated by him again and again and again. If he spent the rest of his life doing it, so be it.

There was a bright green flash, and all of the sudden he was standing in the middle of a bridge. It stretched in a graceful arc down each side to a patch of land covered with grass and shrubbery. Between ran a stream, clear water with nothing in it.

"…" The she-elf muttered something Fenris could not make out. She turned her hands to shift her palms up. Along her left palm was a crack, with a green glow emitting from it.

The Fade was filled with many entities yet to have a name. Fenris was not sure if this elf-spirit was saving him or dumping him from a frying pan into a fire.

She turned, and then Fenris remembered how nothing in the Fade was to be trusted. He still had his sword.

A blast of magic suddenly shot his way. He blocked with his blade and dodged the spell that followed.

"Ma emma harel!" the she-elf yelled, "Elgar'aria!" She thrust her left hand, and the green light flickered.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. He swung his sword, intent on chopping off that hand. She was fast, though, and struck him with something that flared up like his body was on fire.

He stumbled back with a grunt, gritting his teeth to will his limbs to move past the pain. Another spell felled him to his knees. He had never seen mages cast so fast. Even Anders, with the help of his demon, seemed slow compared to this…creature.

The third spell caused darkness to fog over his vision. The pain had a numb quality, like it was separate from him. He looked up to the sky where the Black City floated. He had seen that before, that time with Hawke. The sin of Tevinter. It blurred and grew even dimmer.

There was a green flash.

* * *

Soothing coolness flowed through his veins. Fenris opened his eyes. The elven girl looked back at him, face troubled.

She was standing a slight distance away, hunched in expectation; of what he was not sure. She held her left hand to her bosom as if to shield it.

Fenris sat up slowly. This day could not possibly make less sense.

"You didn't kill me," he noted.

The girl did not blink, maintaining steady eye-contact. "You weren't a demon."

"You thought I was one?"

"I don't trust anything in the Fade."

He narrowed his eyes, trying to see Merrill in her, but in truth, this elf did not really resemble the wide-eyed, naïve, irritatingly bubbly Dalish mage. Her voice was lower and calm, filled with serenity. She _felt_ cleaner, pure, even though she was a mage and Fenris knew that all mages…but she felt different, somehow. She seemed more beautiful than she appeared; her features were all rather average, and yet there was an elegance about her that seemed transcendent. Not seductive, not alluring, just…beautiful.

She offered no apology for her error. She clearly did expect some form of retaliation, however. The left hand still clenched close to her breast, and she did not loosen her stance.

Fenris had too many questions to know where to start.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"Who are  _you?_ "

"You're the one who attacked me."

"You would have done the same."

_True enough._

The Black City crackled, causing both to start and look at it in apprehension.

"It's more active than usual," said the she-elf. Her left hand flickered with green light. She looked down. "It's con—" she broke off abruptly.

Fenris stood. She was too late. "That thing on your hand is connected somehow?" he guessed.

She glanced at him. "I don't know."

Movement behind her had Fenris reaching for his sword. Demons. A Rage demon, tall and red, oozed out from the fog. The mage flinched from him at first, but noted his gaze and followed it. She uttered something that must be Dalish, and flung her hands out. There was a bright green flash.

* * *

They were in a forest. The tall trees loomed up, crossing over the Black City that continued to float above them.

She sighed. "I don't know how this thing works."

The light in her left palm was at its dimmest yet. She studied it, and then looked ahead. Her eyes flickered. She was thinking, considering, discarding.

"You can't control it," said Fenris.

"No."

Another movement between the trees had the mage dodging—and sliding into him to seek cover. They pressed behind one of the tree trunks, her back huddled against his torso. She was quite small, like Merrill, but the way she leaned against him threatened his balance. He was forced to wrap an arm around her to steady himself.

The figure passed by without pause. It was some kind of white spirit.

"Fenedhis," she muttered, relaxing a little. She left his side. Fenris allowed her to go.

"How did we get here?" he asked, following her when she continued to press forward.

"It's…my hand. It teleports when I activate it, but it seems to activate when I try to cast spells too. It's why we've been hopping around."

"I meant the  _Fade._ I wasn't sleeping, so this isn't a dream. There was only one other time when I entered the Fade like this and that required some ritual and at least a mage to implement it."

"I'm not sure. You were there at the conclave?"

He had been  _near_ it, however unintentionally. "Close enough."

"There was a…being. He was torturing the human Divine. 'Sacrifice' was the term used. I stumbled upon it, and he tried to get his minions to kill me. He had an orb. I grabbed it, and then there was…an explosion. I had been with the Divine, but we became separated…" she slowed. "and this mark, on my hand, it emerged ever since. I've been trying to get back to her, to get us back…" she sighed. "I can't decide if this thing will be our salvation or our doom." 

She looked at him then. "I didn't realize the blast got others as well."

Fenris considered. "This…being. What did it look like?"

"Tall, dark. He had a deep, male voice. I saw mainly shadows, but his silhouette looked…warped. Grotesque. He gave off an energy that felt…sickening. But powerful. It was foolish of me to have approached, but I heard the Divine cry out for help. She sounded terrified." The mage scowled. "Besides, power is as power does. I am no small foe myself. At the very least I know enough to signal to the rest of the conclave that something was amiss. I didn't imagine that it would all come to this."

She was angry, he realized. Angry that she had failed, that she had become a victim herself. It was a sentiment that Fenris understood very well.

"We don't know what  _this_ is yet," he pointed out.

"True." She looked up at the Black City. "We should try to go back. The Mark…it's drained. It will need time before I can try teleporting us again. We need to find a safe area."

"Where, exactly, would qualify as 'safe' around here?"

"That would be the crux of it," she agreed. "What I know is, spirits here can sense changes in the environment. The more changes, the more accurately they can locate. But what hides you in the real world hides you from them just as effectively. Don't try to change the environment, don't try to change what you carry, and if you think they shouldn't see you, then they normally can't. Hence why hiding behind a tree worked so well."

"Meaning?"

"We find an enclosed space. Try not to think of what it might look like. It must be as the spirits will it, or else they would sense our interference and pinpoint us."

* * *

They eventually found a recess in the side of a mountain, extending from a small gap into a wider opening. It was dark within, and they both sat in the shadows, but for the first time since arriving here, Fenris felt  _safe_.

"We can't stay here long," said the mage. "Time passes differently in the Beyond compared to the living realm."

"How long before your mark is restored?"

"It varies."

They fell silent for a while, both thinking. Though he could not see it, his thoughts ruminated over the she-elf's long, silky tresses. He wanted to touch them. He had no idea what had gotten into him.

"Do you know Merrill?" he asked.

"…Merrill?"

"Of the Sabrae clan?"

"Ah."

When she did not answer for a time, Fenris thought she never would, but the she-elf then said, "I know of her only through word-of-mouth. She hailed from the same clan that produced the Hero of Ferelden and saved Thedas from the Fifth Blight."

_"She was my friend. The Grey Wardens took her away. They promised they could cure her, and I suppose they did…but for naught, in the end."_

"You've never met her though."

"We're not so few that we know everyone personally. Do you know every city elf?"

"I'm not a city elf."

In the light that shimmered from the gap in the walls, he saw the bright sclera of her eyes reflect as she glanced at him. "You are no Dalish. Are you Qunari?"

Fenris blinked, surprised. "No, but why do you ask?"

"You have the bearing. I've seen it before. Contemplative control."

"…I did spend some time with the Qunari, yes."

"You did not stay."

Fenris did not dignify that with a response.

"Why did you ask about Merrill of Sabrae?"

"She was…" Fenris hesitated. Was Merrill a friend? She was as close of one as a blood mage could be. They had disagreed, but even Fenris understood that Merrill had been misguided, not intentionally malevolent. "…a friend."

His companion jumped right to it. "I was told she practiced blood magic."

"She did. I don't know if anything changed since we parted ways."

"You approved?"

"Absolutely not." His markings flared a little as his temper rose at the thought.

"Stop," she suddenly ordered. "You'll draw them to us. What  _is_ that?"

She leaned close as Fenris forced himself to relax. Thankfully, she made no motion to touch.

"It's nothing."

"It's like magic," she ignored him to say. "It's not dwarven runes, and it's not magic itself, but it's something like it."

She studied him a little more. For some reason, Fenris allowed her. Eventually, she leaned back, peering out. More spirits were wandering. A thick, black, spindled pole suddenly planted down near the entrance. Fenris sucked in a breath and held it; his companion became as quiet as a mouse. The pole then left as something hissed above.

"Nightmare," she whispered when it passed.

The world outside seemed to grow colorless. The sky darkened. Fenris grabbed her right hand as the rocky walls around them warped.

The mage swore as she thrust her left hand. "It's not working."

"You have to do something…"

"Hold on, let me think—"

The walls turned smooth and straight. There was a faint drip of water behind them. In front, iron bars with chains cuffed to them. Fenris reached for his sword.

 _"Little pup! Come out and play!"_ Hadriana's voice was high-pitched and piercing.

 _Maker…_ Fenris struggled to rein in his breathing. His companion ducked close.

"Is that yours or mine?" she demanded. "I don't remember this. I've never seen anything like this. This must be yours."

_"Aw, did you miss me, Leto?"_

_I am not Leto!_

_"Little Leto, how he doth cry, as the seasons pass and the years go by. Little Leto, how his blood bleeds, and forms red rivers for white seeds! Heeheehee!"_

He was chained by his wrists, suspended in the middle of the room. His chest was covered with his own blood. Hadriana reached out to grab his buttock and squeeze. He shuddered, tears pouring down his cheeks. He knew what was coming.

"Oh Leto, no kiss for your mistress?"

Hadriana suddenly screamed, and green glowing cracks appeared over her face, her torso, her entire figure, as if she were splintering apart. She shuddered, and then she dissolved into pieces. There was a shadow of a monstrous form that flickered in her place before disappearing into green light.

"Argh!" the Dalish mage shouted. Her hand was glowing, and sweat pearled over her forehead. She was in pain. She doubled over her limb, stumbling as if about to swoon. Fenris jerked at his cuffs, which refused to move. He yanked again. The metal snapped and he was on his feet, but the elf mage fell to her knees.

Spirits, clad in vague robes and armor, broke into the cell. Fenris ran to the Dalish girl. His sword was at his back again. He had no idea where it went and how it returned, but in the Fade, nothing had to make sense, it seemed. Next to him, the mage sobbed. Her mark was still glowing, and she seemed paralyzed by it.

"Get up!" he yelled, grabbing her by the right arm. "Get up, now!"

He flung his blade to block the first spell. Another was quickly coming. Out of instinct, he activated his markings. He grunted at the impact when the spells did not go through him, but he seemed to have taken less damage than he otherwise would have.

The Dalish girl still did not get up. Fenris pulled her close so that he could block the spells aimed for her.

"I can't carry you!" he yelled as the demons broke through the iron bars. "Get—"

There was a bright green flash.

* * *

The mark was causing her such agony that she could not even sit up, let alone stand. Fenris shifted her in his arms, looking around frantically for some kind of cover. Their previous shelter appeared to have done little against the Nightmare, but it still made more sense than stopping while out in the open.

She was crying and sick. She had nothing in her stomach, but she would heave and retch. Fenris finally gave up and set her on the ground near some bushes. He pulled out his sword again once his arms were free. There were no demons in this new area they teleported to, but that could easily change.

"You're a mage," he exclaimed. "Think! What will ease the pain? Can you cast a spell?"

She shook her head. "The mark…it's powerful magic. I can't…I can't contain it. When I used it…on that—that demon, it charged—Argh!"

"Deep breaths," Fenris ordered, though he had no idea if this would help at all. This was the Fade. Even the air was not what it seemed.

"I'm sorry, Leto," she swallowed. "I don't know if I can get you out of here after all."

Fenris stared at her. "My name is not Leto," he said quietly. For once, the name did not feel him with rage. It was an honest mistake.

Maybe it was Hawke's influence. Perhaps his time in Kirkwall did change him. So much had happened since he first escaped from his former master. He had seen too much and wrought too much to be as he had been. Once upon a time he would have dismissed her; this mage who had odd Dalish markings and represented everything Fenris feared or could not have.

Now, though, he knew he could not leave her. She had saved him twice from his own nightmares. Whatever her ultimate motives or purpose, he was staying with her. For now.

"My name is Fenris," he told her, "and you don't have to worry. We'll survive this. Together."

 


	3. Old Friends Reunite

They ran into some red templars as the sun climbed towards noon. Ahathriel was wilting by then, so after they disposed of them, Fenris insisted that they make camp despite the brightness of the day. She established her regular wards as Fenris set up her tent. When they were both done, Fenris did her a favour and left camp to hunt. Though she seemed to believe his story about their meeting in the Fade, she still did not remember him, and was not so comfortable that she could rest with him so near.

She was different. She had been so full of light. There was a shadow in her eyes, like loss or mourning. She had gotten thinner, as if the events since the Breach had drained her vitality out of her. He did not like it, but she still had enough spirit that it was not an emergent issue. The fact that she did not remember him would hinder any efforts on his part to help her anyway.

At least they were in the real world. He knew how to navigate this world. So there was the occasional bandit or apostate, a red templar or an outlaw; Fenris had dealt with those before and he could deal with them even more easily now that he had an ally.

 _Ahathriel._ He mouthed the name, feeling the motions on his tongue. Ahathriel. All this time, he had not known her name. It had been fine, she explained, for him to give her his, because in the real world he stood little chance of being possessed, but mages had to be more careful. He had called her Halla the entire time.

Not knowing her name had made finding her a very long and annoying process. In the end, it seemed she had found him, lost memories notwithstanding.

Ahathriel, exhausted after a day and night without sleep, was completely out by the time he came back. He checked on her, and knowing the mentality of those who felt vulnerable, left her alone in the tent. She woke up two hours later, when the cooking was done and cooled, and Fenris was dozing off himself. Things had gotten boring since the Breach and its aftermath.

"I should have asked for a mount," she muttered as she unrolled the map.

"Perhaps."

"We'll still reach Kirkwall by the end of the week, I expect. Hopefully Varric can supply us with one when we arrive."

 _Us._ She might not know it, but she was starting to accept him. It was a start.  _And Varric._ When she had first mentioned it, it took most of Fenris' discipline not to react. He had no idea how he would fare when he eventually faced the dwarf.  _All these coincidences…_

"He's definitely enjoying more prestige than I am. Should have been the sidekick rather than the hero. Everyone's doing better than me." Ahathriel sounded more thoughtful than bitter. "Even Hawke. Well."

_Hawke._

After he escaped the Fade, Fenris had written to Hawke, asking for his help one more time. He asked about a black-haired Dalish mage with markings that indicated she was beholden to Mythal. At the time Hawke had pointed out that his description applied to a great many Dalish elves. Fenris had not known what to say. He thought about mentioning the mark, but he was not sure whether she would still have it in the real world.

"What is he doing now?" he asked.

"Probably rebuilding Kirkwall. He mentioned doing that after he took care of some errands first."

"He would have a fondness for that city."

"You knew him?"

 _One more thing she forgot._ "He was a dear friend."  _Someone I was willing to die for. To turn against my own beliefs to protect._

"You are full of surprises," said Ahathriel, and her smile held traces of her old self. "Prove it to me. Tell me a story. I can cross-reference with Varric."

"Cross-reference with Tethras?" Fenris thought for a moment. "Well, anything to do with Varric would have to involve Diamondback."

"Oh dear," Ahathriel laughed. "Now I know this is genuine, but I'm intrigued!"

"We were at the Hanged Man; this tavern in Lowtown, and it was the first time the captain of Kirkwall's City Guard, Aveline, had been able to join us…"

* * *

Each night, Fenris stayed outside the tent. He made no move to intrude, though he never left either. By the time they reached Kirkwall, Ahathriel was relieved mostly because she would no longer have to feel guilty about keeping him out. She trusted him now…mostly, anyway. There was still the fear that he might overpower her should she give him the chance.

"Inquisitor!" one of the dwarves exclaimed when they saw her. Fenris did a double-take, and Ahathriel winced.

_Here it comes._

"It's the Herald of Andraste!"

"Not  _Andraste_ , you idiot!"

"But she saved us from the Breach!"

"You need to quiet down," Ahathriel held her hands out, and for once she forgot about the prosthetic that Lace Harding had gifted to her. "or else you'll cause a commotion. I have business here."

"Oh…"

"Your Ladyship…"

Fortunately, that was one crisis averted, by the grace of whatever decided to favour her that day. Ahathriel held her breath as she crossed the gates. When they passed, Fenris edged close to her, and his deep voice went even lower.

"You're the Inquisitor."

"I can explain—" she had no idea  _what_ she needed to explain, exactly, but the white-haired elf was obviously upset.

"You were in front of everyone,  _all this time_ , all I had to do was  _look_ —"

"A lot of things were happening—"

"—and I  _missed it all_ while I was up in Tevinter—"

"—and who knows, people were saying all sorts of things—"

"—what in the Fade was I  _thinking?_ "

"—back when this all started—"

"Shut up."

Ahathriel's jaws clicked shut. Her fake hand thrummed uncomfortably.

It was Fenris who led the way, which made sense, since he had apparently been in Kirkwall for ten years. They spoke no more until they arrived at the steps leading to the Viscount's estate.

 _Oh, Varric._ She could not imagine the dwarf living here. It was mind-boggling. Hightown had recovered first, though many buildings were still in the process of reconstruction. The Viscount's abode, though, had been restored entirely, green lawn and potted flowers included.

Fenris stayed ahead of her when they ascended. From within the building, a woman was talking rapidly.  _"If they don't want it, there's no use keeping it there. We'll send two teams down and get rid of the debris. The tree we can leave alone for now, but the houses can provide some extra shelters—Fenris!_ "

The white-haired elf halted. Ahead was a red-headed human woman, clad in a cloth uniform. She appeared to have been marching toward another part of the estate, but had been derailed. With a wide grin on her face, she strode toward them and clapped Fenris on the back, where his armor protected his markings.

"Never thought I'd see you so soon. You are looking well."

"As are you, Aveline."

"Hawke would be pleased to see you. And who is your friend here?"

Guard-Captain Aveline. Ahathriel looked at the human woman. Strong jaw, pale eyes, light freckles over her cheekbones. They had never met in person, but she remembered assigning Kirkwall to Cullen, and discussing reports during their war councils.

Fenris still seemed miffed, because he replied, "She is apparently the Inquisitor."

"Inquisitor?" Aveline glanced at her.

Ahathriel suddenly felt just how small she appeared, without the backing of her old uniforms and armor. "Not much of one without an Inquisition," she remarked.

"Your Ladyship," Aveline bowed anyway. "I'm not sure why I was surprised. Hawke had described you to me. Come, I'm sure you have business to tend to, but Fenris, you owe me drinks tonight."

It was the first time Ahathriel saw Fenris smile, though the term might be a bit generous. Nevertheless, he seemed to look kindly on the Guard-Captain.

The carpets were luxurious, the mirrors framed with ornate gold, and the doors were of fine wood. Following Aveline was like taking a tour of everything Kirkwall promised to be in the coming year. Ahathriel was a bit desensitized by the grandeur of palaces and castles since the Inquisition, but she remembered when she had still been First to Keeper Deshanna, and human things had always looked so grand, so majestic, compared to the simplicity of Dalish achievements that were limited by what could be carried in their aravels. She felt a wave of nostalgia for those times. It was as if her innocence had been taken away from her, and she had no idea when she let it go.

_"Aveline?"_

"Hawke, got a few visitors for you."

Hawke was visibly startled when Fenris entered the office. Varric was stooped over some documents in the main chair, and did not notice at first.

"Fenris!" Hawke grinned. "Maker, am I glad to see you, my friend!" He saw Ahathriel as he approached. "And Inquisitor!"

"Well I'll be!" Varric leaned back. "Broody and the Inquisitor. Am I in trouble?"

Ahathriel sighed. "I'm disappointed, Varric. I thought you of all people would know that I'm no longer  _an_ Inquisitor, let alone  _the_ Inquisitor."

"Oh, I don't know. That sort of thing stays with you. Broody will always be broody. You will always be the Inquisitor. Doesn't matter what happens."

Hawke had finished greeting Fenris with a warrior's grasp. He repeated the gesture with Ahathriel, though he was noticeably less rough with her.

"An honour and a pleasure, my lady," his eyes were kind. "What brings you to Kirkwall?"

Fenris turned to Ahathriel, which reminded her that she had never explained to him why she was here in the first place.

"Making a stop," she replied. "I am heading to Tevinter."

"Tevinter? What for?"

"Captain!" one of the guards interrupted. Aveline turned.

"What is it?"

"There's a situation down in Lowtown, serah."

Aveline tapped Hawke on the arm. "Keep me posted."

"Will do."

"And here I thought you were finally learning to take advantage of your Comtess title," Varric stated as the Captain left the office.

"I'm not actually sure that title is mine." Ahathriel had actually forgotten about that, with all the turmoil surrounding the Qunari and the Exalted Council.

"Well you have a plot in Hightown, and the key to the city, so the title is yours. What you do with it, however…"

Fenris was staring at her. She had no idea what he was thinking.

"I have a plot here?" Ahathriel asked, feeling like an idiot.

She must have looked as lost as she felt, because Hawke offered, "I can show you. It's not too far from my estate, though it is just a plot of land, no house to stay in. You can rest at my estate for as long as you need."

"Oh…I wouldn't want to intrude…"

"Nonsense. It's the least I can do."

"She can stay at my place, if she prefers." Fenris glared at Hawke.

"Your place?" Varric sounded like he was choking on laughter. "Broods, your place isn't fit for a horse right now. Clearly you haven't passed by it."

"You two will _both_ be guests at my place," Hawke declared. "I shan't take no for an answer. In the meantime, I can show you your estate. Tomorrow we can meet with the architects to begin construction. By the time you return from Tevinter it should all be done. What are you going to Tevinter for?"

Fenris was staring at her again.

Ahathriel sighed, looking at Varric and silently begging him to help.

"It's a loooong story my friend," Varric winced sympathetically.

* * *

  _Tevinter._

"Will you be seeking out Magister Pavus?" Hawke asked.

"I don't know. He might be able to help, but I might need more than what he can provide."

"If you're looking to find people Solas doesn't know, he probably wouldn't be a good choice," Varric agreed. "Though he might be able to point you in the right direction."

Fenris studied Ahathriel. He did not like how she looked, as if walking to her execution. Hawke also seemed uneasy, staring intently at her and speaking with a persuasive tone.

_Tevinter. Of all places._

"If not Pavus, then what is your plan?"

"The issue with Dorian is that Solas has spies everywhere, and I don't know if they extended to Dorian and the Magister's council. I need people who are obscure."

"Friends of Red Jenny."

"Except not, because Solas is familiar with them as well."

"Then Fenris is a good ally," Hawke nodded to the elf. "Maybe you can get in touch with Merrill as well."

"Merrill?"

"Merrill?!" Fenris scowled. Ahathriel looked at him in surprise.

"Oh boy," Varric dropped his head into his hands. "I can't decide if that's a brilliant idea, or the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"Why?"

"Is she still practicing blood magic?" Fenris spat.

"As a matter of fact, she isn't."

Fenris blinked.

"No, but you're talking about a guy who wants to bring about a new era of elves. You're asking  _Merrill_ to go against this guy?" Varric laughed in disbelief. "Are we talking about the same Merrill here? Merrill, who was willing to resort to blood magic to fix a demonic  _mirror_ just because it  _might_ restore elves to their former glory?"

"She's not going to condone hurting others in order to realize this, Varric. For all that she might be a blood mage, her intentions are pure."

"You always had a soft spot for her," Fenris muttered bitterly. Merrill and Anders, the two mages that Hawke had always kept by his side, no matter how much Fenris tried to warn him.

"I will see this Merrill first," Ahathriel interrupted. "I will see her with my own eyes and talk to her as one of my kin. If she proves too unreliable then I won't recruit her."

"She's not evil," Hawke continued to defend, "and I'm surprised  _you're_ so pessimistic, Varric. I know  _you're_ fond of her."

"Ha! Yeah, we  _all_ were, but that doesn't mean I don't know she has issues. Remember, I know Solas too. He and I had a moment with Cole, and the thing about both of them is that they're consistent, even if they're consistently wrong. So. While Merrill would be helpful in literally  _any other situation_ , I'm not betting money on this one."

"You want a wager, do you?"

"Gold or nothing, champ."

"Twenty-five that she helps."

"Loser! Fifty at least; even if she joins, it's just to get close; she's awful at Wicked Grace but don't think she can't hide what she needs to when it counts."

"Gentlemen," Ahathriel interrupted. They both looked at her. "Just tell me where she is."

"She left shortly before all the elves vanished," Hawke informed them. "She had mentioned something about meeting up with Isabela."

"See, that's your other problem; looking for Merrill's kind of out of the way if she wants to get to Tevinter."

"Nonsense. We can write to her and inquire."

"This is such a bad idea, it hurts," but Varric was laughing, which even Fenris did not know how to interpret. "Ooh, but you know who would actually be really good recruit?" He considered for a moment. "Okay, a good recruit but no real good way to bring it up."

"Just spit it out, Varric."

"Ehhh, never mind. You'll probably kill me for suggesting it."

Hawke leaned back a little. "You cocky bastard."

"I didn't say anything!"

"Bethany! Really!"

"Hey, she's good. And being in the Circle only made her scarier. Look, it's just someone to consider, and she's way better than Merrill."

Ahathriel looked at Hawke. "Your sister?"

"My mother would roll in her grave."

"She's grown up, whether you like it or not, and she's way more dependable than Merrill. She's better at magic too, especially since Merrill's not doing blood magic anymore. Supposedly."

"I think we've had enough bad ideas for today," Hawke announced. "Since the Inquisitor and Fenris are staying the night anyway, we can continue to brainstorm tomorrow."

"I'm just saying!" Varric seemed a little distraught, even though he was smirking.

"I know," Hawke sighed, before turning to the two of them. "Come on. I'll show you the plot, and then we can go to my place."

* * *

Ahathriel had a respectable plot, which was equally empty. Untamed grass wafted from the soil. There was not much to inspect, so Hawke took them to his home straight afterwards. Not long after, Aveline arrived, bringing drinks; it turned out she just wanted to spend some time with Fenris. Her husband, Donnic, came with her, and was very pleased to see Fenris, who felt likewise. Varric also joined them, lamenting all the while that he missed the Hanged Man now that being a Viscount made it improper for him to frequent such places. Between Varric, Hawke, and Aveline, the table was soon covered with some of the strongest spirits Kirkwall had to offer.

They all got rather drunk.

"'Tis the lament of men whose wives are their betters!" Donnic sang, horribly off-key, and tried to click his drink with Fenris', "the longer you know her the less you get her!"

"Ha!" Varric was nearly crying.

"You're going to have a time of it, Fenris," Donnic slapped Fenris hard on the back. "I thought I was in for it, but you! How much higher can you get than the Inquisitor? Wait, that also rhymed. I need to work that in. The Lament of Fenris who married the 'Quisitor!"

Ahathriel, who seemed to grow quieter the more she drank, gave Donnic a look of confusion.

"I think it's time to go home, love," Aveline stood. Hawke gave a whistle. Varric nearly fell off his chair.

With the Hendyrs gone, Varric soon took his leave. Hawke showed Ahathriel the guest bedroom before coming down to join Fenris, who was nursing a drink he probably should have done without. Antivan brandy, strong enough that his mind felt numb and his markings tingled.

"The Inquisitor, eh?" Hawke filled up another goblet of his own. Fenris groaned.

"I didn't know she was the Inquisitor."

"No? I don't know which is more surprising; that you didn't know all this time or that you actually took to her. You weren't nearly as fond of Merrill."

"She is  _not_ Merrill," Fenris spat in disgust, never mind that throughout their acquaintance in the Fade, he had almost never ceased comparing Ahathriel to the Dalish blood mage.

"No she's not," Hawke took a swallow, leaning back. "I can see why you'd like her. She's a remarkable woman. Per Varric, she went from a nobody Dalish First to the leader of the Inquisition in practically no time, held in high regard by everyone she meets. It's still really quick for you though. You didn't even trust me that quickly, and the Exalted Council was not that long ago."

"It wasn't really that quick," Fenris replied. "I met her in the Fade."

"You dreamed of her?"

"No. When the Breach first appeared, it swallowed both of us. Time passes differently in the Fade."

Hawke leaned forward. "I had no idea you were also involved."

"You never had a chance to find out."

"She never mentioned you. Though she did mention that she couldn't remember that time."

A thoughtful silence fell.

"So you two met in the Fade…dare I ask what happened there?"

Fenris swallowed. He might be just drunk enough for this. "We helped each other. All we had was…each other. I got to know her…probably more than anyone ever did. And she got to know me. The Fade…it bares you, your soul. She saw mine and I saw hers. We…we fought. To escape. While Corypheus hunted us…"


	4. Rough Beginnings

It was not the smoothest start, despite assertions.

There were spirits chasing after them at every turn. Her pain slowed her, and many times Fenris had to carry her. She was light, as would be expected, but nevertheless, many times Fenris considered abandoning her. After her initial contributions, she focused mostly on containing the pain of the mark, and having his hands occupied with her meant that Fenris could not use his sword to defend himself. It seemed that the benefits of keeping her close did not outweigh the disadvantages.

At length, however, they were finally able to pause for a moment. Fenris set her down, and she sank to what resembled the ground, though it wavered and rocked beneath them as if they were resting on the breathing ribs of a far greater being.

 _"Little mortal running about,"_ said a voice that seemed to come from all around them.  _"Nibble, nibble, little mouse."_

"Don't listen to it," Fenris hissed. "Don't you dare listen to it!"

 _"Consorting with a mage again?"_ the voice seemed to echo in his skull.  _"My my. I suppose it's a bit much to expect a slave to learn."_

 _Why is it all about me?_ Fenris looked about. There was no sign of whatever actually possessed the voice. Around them were just rocks, and interspersed with certain things that should not exist in nature: a dining table, a tall mirror, a washing bowl.

 _"What makes her different from any mage you've met before?"_ the voice went on.  _"Did you really think she would save you? Perhaps she would. Or perhaps she was what brought you here in the first place. To **bring you back.** "_

"No," Fenris grabbed at his ears, but that did not stop the words from penetrating.

_"The magisters will forever hunt you for your lyrium markings. Do you suppose she will side with them or you? You, a warrior with no background and no influence. Perhaps she might like a taste of you as well. Leashed, like a **dog**. They all look so sweet and pretty, don't they? Some are quite petite. Then they use the Fade to smite you down and even little hands have claws."_

Beatings, being stuffed in a box. Cruel fingers grabbing his jaw, his hair, his groin. Hadriana, crowing with glee as Leto screamed. Dunking his head in water until he passed out. Smoke and ash.

_No._

"Fenris."

He looked up. The mage was staring at him, eyes wide. She was wary but concerned.

 _What was I thinking?_ Fenris backed away from her.  _She's a mage. You **know** what mages are capable of._

_"She might even keep you as a pet. A warrior of her own, with the ability to pass through templars. How convenient."_

"Fenris, you have to stay focused. Whatever he's talking about, whatever  _it's_ talking about, you can worry about it once we get out of here, but you can't let it distract you now, alright?"

Her words made sense. Fenris looked at her. She did look innocent. Perhaps too much so.

"We'll settle this later," he promised.

Morbid laughter resonated all around them.

 _"And if there is no later? How_ **_did_ ** _you end up in the Fade? Why would she have brought you here? Kill her, before she tries anything. Kill her, and you will truly be free. Free of your past. Free of the chains that still bind you. I can lift them, little elf."_

Demons had tried that before, though. Fenris remembered when they were trying to save the half-elf. At the time, the words spoke to him, and he had suddenly felt so understood by the creature. Though he was no longer a slave, he had always felt like one. He slept with one eye open, expecting his freedom to be taken from him at any moment. The sight of mages filled him with dread, because he remembered how they use to cast spells on him, make him do things he had no wish to do. He would look at others in Kirkwall and long to be like them, to be without the shroud of fear that stifled him even as he walked free in the streets. How dearly did he wish never to have known the life of slavery, where his thoughts were barely his, let alone his body. They had no idea how lucky they were, he would think bitterly. He would hate the sight of himself in the mirror. His body was ruined, tainted, unworthy. In truth, his very skin felt like the chains of slavery. If only he could shed his form and pick another that was pure and clean. And so he had attacked Hawke, because there was nothing about himself that he had wanted to preserve.

But he knew better now. Demons lied. So did mages, but at least it seemed this one had a stake in getting out of here.

"How do we get out of here?" he demanded.

The mage let out a shaky breath. "I don't know."

Something suddenly dropped between them from above. An elf. A she-elf. Dalish, with the same tattoos as the mage. Her hair was shorn short, black as jet, and her skin was as fair as snow. Over her back was a bow and quiver, on her thighs were a dagger each. Her armor, however, bore the mark of a griffin. A Grey Warden. Or what looked like one.

She rose from her crouch, petting at her knees to get rid of the dust.

"Very talkative, this one," she said, shrugging her shoulders to adjust the position of her quiver, which Fenris realized was empty. "The lousy thing about the Fade is that creatures here don't need to take a breath. Zero punctuation monologuing, and he has no sense of humor. You'd think if you talk that much that you could at least insert a joke here and there." She turned her head to regard the mage. "Don't just sit there, Halla. You'll never get anywhere like that."

The mage stared back. "You… _what_ are you?"

The warden smiled wistfully. "They always did say you were special. There was talk, you know. As to what I am…that is a topic that would take far longer than you have. Suffice to say, I am here to help."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"That's a question you ought to ask yourself, not me." The warden stepped away. "If you wish to survive the Fade, you'll need to do more than just hop around whenever danger approaches. You will also need to actually move in a consistent direction."

"How do I do that?"

"Simple. Don't use the mark. Elven feet are sure enough for that."

The demon's flippant attitude had Fenris on edge. He drew his sword. "Perhaps we should just kill you, just to be safe."

The warden froze, then turned her head to regard him.

"You have a lot of blood on your hands, Da'len." Her leather turned to mail as she approached him. "It is easy for you, to kill. The more you kill, the baser you become. That is the way of all things. I can't stop you. I can't stop your fall. I am not here for you, however. Not to harm you, and not to save you. I am here for  _her_."

She turned to the mage, who had stood, cradling her left hand.

"A great evil lurks, Halla. You have volunteered to be the next Champion. The path before you will be laden with tragedy, but you have no other course. Perhaps, if you succeed, you and I will meet again. For now, go. The world turns and the stars watch.  **Ar lasa mala enansal.** "

Instead of rocks, they were surrounded by tall mountains. The air was filled with frost. In front was a human Chantry, with large doors and sturdy walls. All the odd knick-knacks, the tables and wardrobes, were all gone. There was even a chill to the wind, as if what they saw before them were real. The only thing strange was how empty the surroundings were.

"Why are you helping us? Helping me?" the mage inquired.

The warden paused. "That is what I would want to do." She raised a hand to point. "Go thither, Halla of the Dales. There you will find the gate between Here and the Beyond."

Fenris looked ahead. Were they supposed to go  _into_ the Chantry?

"What about the Divine? She is here as well. Did you already help her?"

But the warden was gone. He and the mage looked around, but there was no sign of the other elf.

"Well," said the mage, looking resigned.

Fenris had to admire her composure, if nothing else.

The mage bowed over a little, as if summoning some inner will. The light from her left hand flickered and she winced. She looked like she wanted to curl up again, which would force Fenris to have to carry her, but at the last moment she managed not to give in to the impulse.

"Let's go."

"Can we trust it?" Fenris demanded.

"You shouldn't trust anything in the Fade," the mage smiled wistfully. Her expression actually resembled the warden's quite a bit. "But listen, the voice is gone. When there is no choice…what can you do?"

* * *

"Do you recognize this place?"

"It looks vaguely familiar," Fenris confessed.

"This is Haven. This is near where the Conclave was to take place. I wonder if we're supposed to go to the Temple. That is where this all started." she sucked in a breath and winced. Her mark seemed to flash, but thankfully did not activate, for their surroundings remained unchanged. For the time being.

The pain paralyzed her, though. With a long-suffering sigh, Fenris reached out to her to lift her up again, but this time she drew away from him.

"I can handle this one, just give me a moment."

He obliged, but when she did not seem to recover at all, he reached out to her again. "We're wasting time."

She allowed him to take her then. They proceeded in silence, save for when she gave directions. They went over the frozen lake, the snow crunching under his boots, as the Black City continued to loom in the sky. Halla watched out for any demons or attackers, but so far everything remained still and quiet.

"You're handling this well, Fenris."

"What do you mean?"

"Having to be with a mage, in the Fade of all places. It's a trial for most to be with us in the real world."

Fenris did not reply for a moment. "You're my way out of here. I don't appear to have much choice."  _You should never trust anything in the Fade, but when you have no choice…you should never trust a mage, but when you have no choice…_

"Still, I'm sure it took a lot of effort to withstand that demon. You can easily strike me down here. I don't even know if I can cast spells in this state."

"You're strong enough to talk, maybe you should try."

She laughed, breathy and miserable. "I'm working on it."

There was a sudden loud  _crack_ , and all of the sudden the path before them was separated by a wide canyon leading into a murky abyss. Fenris stumbled back, clutching Halla tight in reflex.

"Venhedis!" Fenris then set her down.  _What are we to do now?_

Halla groaned, though she was bending over her arm. It seemed the Mark was flaring again. "We must be able to get to the other side somehow. We just have to…focus. Argh!"

"What do you mean,  _focus?_ " Fenris demanded.

"The Fade is…what the mind is," Halla sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. "well, aside from the demons, anyway. If what the Keeper said was true, we can imagine the gap closed, but… _aaaargh,_ easier said than done, I know. You don't have to tell me."

There was an eerie shout from behind them. Fenris whirled back, then blanched at the flash of robes. Tevinter mages. His heart instantly started racing. Halla slipped from his grasp as he reached for his sword.

_I won't let them take me._

_"Get him!"_

There was a song for every battle, beating with the triumph every time he sundered flesh, as loud as his fear and rage. The spells glanced off the flat of his blade as he plowed through in a whirlwind of biting metal.

_"I hear he's got a fine arse."_

_"Fine pair of legs."_

_"We'll make big money with this—"_

_"Lyrium!"_

He struck, but his target caught him by the wrists and then stretched them over her head. His momentum threw him over her and they fell to the ground. Pain exploded at his back. He grunted, then turned to slice back. A spell preceded his blade, knocking the Tevinter magister into the air.

He gasped. There was a flash of green light.

* * *

"Fenris."

The pain was gone, but his entire body felt depleted. He blinked his vision into focus. Halla's face was at a distance, as if afraid he would strike.

_Oh._

He had confused her with the Tevinter mages. Had tried to cut her down.

_So much for that._

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle.

"You healed me."  _Again._

"I shouldn't have used the mark," she sighed. "I did it on purpose that time. I was hoping to get us to the other side."

He looked around. They were in a room. A dining hall, from appearances. Stained glass windows lined three sides. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. At the far end of the long wooden table sat a ghostly figure of a man with his head bowed.

"What is this?" he whispered. "How long was I out?"

"Not too long, but he's been there the entire time. He hasn't moved or spoken. I tried getting his attention, but I don't think he can see us."

It was a human man. Dark blonde, chiseled face, dressed in fine clothing. Some kind of nobleman. As Fenris rose to his feet, the figure pushed his plate away from him before bending over and burying his face in his hands.

Fenris released a breath.

"Is this one of yours, for once?"

"I don't recall ever meeting this man," Halla admitted, "or this room. I was going to ask if this was another one of yours."

"No."  _It's about time._ Fenris was not sure why everything they encountered so far had more to do with him than her. Perhaps the mark had lent her some immunity?

"We need to leave here," said Halla, slipping away toward the end of the room. Whatever crippling pain came from the mark appeared to have eased for now. Before she reached the door, it opened, and in slipped a human woman, blonde with a crown over her head.

_"Alistair?"_

The man started, wiping his cheeks rather conspicuously, despite his attempt to be discrete.  _"What? What is it?"_

The woman slowed right in front of Halla.  _"Nothing. I was just looking for you."_

_"I see. What do you need?"_

_"Nothing urgent."_ She hesitated.  _"I didn't say this before but…I'm sorry. About her."_

 _"No you're not. Don't pretend."_ The man rolled his eyes.  _"If you do it's only because she could have been useful to you. I know how people like you are."_

_"But—"_

_"She's gone anyway. It doesn't matter. She's gone, her soul's gone, every part of her is gone. I don't even know why the Maker arranges for people like her to be sacrificed in order to save people like **you**."_

The woman said nothing. She looked heartbroken.

 _"Get out of my sight,"_ Alistair ordered.  _"I really don't want to see you right now."_

The woman hesitated briefly before slowly withdrawing. Halla gestured to Fenris to hurry, and they slipped through the door before the human could close it. The entire scene had played out as if the two elves were not present.

"What was that?" Fenris wondered.

"Some memory, I think."

"Are there more?"

They were out in the hallway, covered with lush carpets. The human woman was moving ahead of them. Elven servants were carrying things up and down the corridor.

"I think we need to get out of here before we can consider anything else," said Halla. "The mark is quiet, for now. Let's make use of that."

* * *

 The hallway opened to a forest. When they glanced back, there was only more forest behind them.

"I'm sick of this place," Fenris grumbled.

"This is…" Halla moved ahead. Her shoulders were tight.

"You recognize this?"

She did not answer, but broke into a run. Swearing, Fenris followed.  _Bloody mages…_

Ahead was a pale figure in the grass. Halla ran straight for it. Fenris chased after, but slowed when he saw what it was.

It was a child. Pale hair, round cheek, large, empty eye socket. Its flesh was completely flayed in the pattern of tooth marks and vicious bites. Bones jotted out of its chest, and its hand was missing fingers as it played with a bunch of rocks.

Halla slowed as well, kneeling cautiously down to the ground before it. It went on playing, ignoring her.

"Da'len," she whispered. "Ir abelas. There is not a day I don't think of you."

The child looked at her then.  _"Were not for you, I would have lived."_

"I know," she sounded on the brink of tears. "I thought they would do with you what they did with me. I was a fool."

_"It should have been you."_

"What is this?" Fenris demanded.

The child froze. For a moment, the entire forest was still.

"I was…part of another clan," Halla said softly. "My clan already had a First. When I demonstrated magic…I was traded. To his clan. As was custom among the Dalish. I was…maybe six, at the time. A few years later, he…started to as well. It was so unexpected. At the time, I thought perhaps I would be rejected. They didn't need…me. But my Keeper told me not to worry. I wasn't going anywhere, and they'll figure out what to do with Estelion. So I didn't, and just focused on my studies. A few weeks later, Estelion was gone. I thought he had been traded, like me. But then one day I went out to gather herbs; my Keeper had told me not to go, but we needed some and I didn't see a reason not to…I came across him. He'd been torn apart by wolves. There wasn't a clan willing to take him…so…they abandoned him in the wilds. As was custom for mages no one wants."

The child bowed his head.

" _He's_ the one who should have—" Halla broke off. "I was the redundant one. It should have been me."

Fenris had no idea what to say.

"This wasn't your fault." Lots of things might be, with her being a mage and all, but not this. "You did not have a say in his fate. You had no reason to believe otherwise."

"It was the first time I realized how one can hurt others simply by existing. I couldn't understand why they made that choice, or…how. Afterwards I dove into my studies. I needed to learn as quickly as I could, in case anything like that ever happened again. Magic isn't something you can shrug off."

 _"No,"_ said the child, looking up.  _"You forgot, like everyone else. You forgot about me. You turned the other way, stayed where **I** belonged." _His voice abruptly changed.  _"You should have given it **back!** "_

Fenris reacted before Halla could, pulling his sword out. The child morphed as it lunged. Halla fell back as it turned into a grey-skinned, long-limbed monster. He cut, and Halla followed with a glowing fireball. It hissed, drawing back and spitting. There was a bright green light.

* * *

"Can you stop doing that?!"

"Ugh!" Halla kicked at the wall.

They were on the side of a castle wall. Above waved flags that were covered in smoke. There was no sign of any soldiers manning the wall, but they could hear footsteps pounding on top.

"How are we going to get out of here if you keep teleporting us somewhere random?"

Halla sighed. "Alright. The only way we can avoid that is if…I don't try to cast spells."

Fenris wanted to yell at her, but at her resignation, his temper evaporated.

"Our first step should be to return to the Frostback Mountains."

Halla looked up at the sky.

"The Black City."

"What?"

She looked down. "The Black City.It's hard to tell, surrounded by the darkness, but I'm pretty sure we were at the opposite side before."

_It's the only lead we have._

"It's a long journey to the other side."

"Well what else can we do?"

There was nothing else. Fenris turned to let her lead the way.

 


	5. Movements in Hightown

Night in Hightown was quiet and peaceful. Ahathriel lied awake for an hour, listening to the soft sounds of the breeze rustling over foliage. Her left arm thrummed and she felt uneasy, in this strange bed and strange room. Hawke was a noble enough man, and she could say that she knew him, but at the time she had the backing of the Inquisition and a title.

She had always had a title. She was the First of the Lavellan clan. She was the Inquisitor. It felt odd to be little more than nothing now, and odder still to be welcomed, to be hosted, despite having nothing of her own to offer.

Too restless to sleep, she eventually abandoned the effort, getting dressed in the dark. The windows were large in this place, and she slipped out easily, shimmying down to the ground. Once out, she questioned herself; it had also been a long time since she wandered around alone, and Kirkwall was an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar dangers.

This was Hightown, though. It ought to be safer, and she had learned a lot of magic since the Breach.

_Just a quick stroll. No one to see you in the dark, no one to see._

She found herself heading toward the plot that was supposed to belong to her. She still could not believe Varric actually pulled it off, though he seemed like the kind of person with many points of influence. Ahathriel had no idea what to do with this land though. She lived in aravels and she lived in a giant castle. What would she do with something in between?

She tried to ignore her prosthetic hand, but it felt like a heavy weight on her shoulder. The mansions around her were all dark and still. Everyone was sleeping. When she reached the plot of land, her pulse was beating loudly in her ears. She felt very alone.

 _"You didn't just do surprisingly well, my dear,"_ Vivienne laughed,  _"You were amazing regardless of your background. Who knew that the Dalish could produce such a political genius! I'm sure your people must be proud!"_

_Proud? My people don't even know what the Game is. We've had no court for a thousand years. They would have no idea._

She felt every bit as empty as her plot of sad land. There was that potential for doing something with it, but no ideas came to mind. She was not human, and did not relish the notion of sliding into the ranks of their society. But the elves were a shadow of what it might have been. Solas had mentioned…the Game before. Perhaps the Elvhen had similar intrigues, but now her people were reduced to servants and vagabonds. Her achievements would not resonate with them. Leading a vast army of thousands, forming alliances, dispatching foes—these were grand accomplishments that were far greater than a single clan could comprehend. They would have no idea what it meant to agonize over how to lead, how to mediate, how to be a leader that was both exalted and yet one of the people, both merciful and yet resolute, choosing the right form of justice, pleasing everyone that needed to be pleased. All these skills, all the bonds formed…leading to nothing, in the end.

Movement in the shadows broke her out of her melancholy, and she was instantly on alert even as she wondered if she had to be. She was no longer Inquisitor. It was not as if anyone had anything to profit from her demise. Should she really be worried?

_Well you are Comtess of Kirkwall, and this is a nice spot of land. Maybe you aren't quite a nobody yet._

There was no more movement, but the air was too still. She was definitely being watched. Looking around quickly, she moved to the side of the block for cover. She ran just as something flew past where she had been. A dart of some sort. She ducked low to make herself a smaller target. How anyone could see in this darkness was beyond her.

 _What are they trying to do?_ She had no idea how many people were involved. Was it one? Was it ten? Was she dealing with a bounty hunter, or an assassin?

"Who goes there?" she called out into the darkness.

There was no answer at first. Alarmed, Ahathriel summoned a quick barrier. It formed just as another dart whistled out of the dark. She crouched lower. This dart came from another direction.

_Thought Hightown was supposed to be a good neighborhood._

She sent a stream of fire in the direction of the dart. It did not seem to strike anything but grass, dissipating into smoke. Her own barrier abruptly burst as it was dispelled.

Whoever she was dealing with had magic at their disposal.

Ahathriel whirled around. She was at a severe disadvantage, possibly outnumbered, and she had not even thought to bring her staff with her on this evening sojourn. The odds did not look good. She had to flee.

Rope suddenly swung over her head, hooking around her neck. She gasped, choked, and reached up to free herself. The rope pulled her back and she collided with a tall figure. Possibly Qunari. She shocked him, causing the rope to loosen. Ahathriel wasted no time lunging forward, but the rope was longer than she hoped. Her torso snapped back at the waist and she lost her footing. A hard boot kicked at her head, but the angle was wrong and she only felt a pain in her scalp. Before disorientation could set in, she cast a wall of fire. There was a loud yell. An ice wall formed over the flames, melting instantly and drenching everyone. Ahathriel grabbed the end of the rope to avoid being strangled again.

"Herah!" someone yelled. Qunlat.

 _Iron Bull never mentioned night vision,_ Ahathriel tugged the rope free and gathered it close. There was a whistle, prompting her to spin to the side. It grazed her elbow with a sharp sting.

"Itwasit," someone announced. A woman.

Ahathriel summoned another wall of fire, just to illuminate her foes. There were three in front of her, but they were backing away. She spun around, noting at least four more. Two Qunari, four smaller figures who might be elves, and one mage, covered in chains, who might be elf or human.

"Why are you after me?" she asked.

"You are a mage without a leash," came the answer from one of the Qunari.

"Apologies, Inquisitor," said one of the elves.

They wavered, or her vision wavered. She was on her knees before even realizing she had fallen, and toppled to the side. Her elbow throbbed. It was her good elbow, the one with the intact arm.

_How much poison was on that thing?_

"What is going on here?"

Fenris loomed before her, green eyes glowing in the firelight. Behind him, Hawke was enunciating angrily at the Qunari, though what he was saying was hard to decipher over the pulsing in her ears. The noose was loosed and lifted over her head. She was being gathered. Lifted. Her head dropped to Fenris' shoulder and she could not lift it.

"Hawke, she needs a healer," his low baritone seemed to vibrate throughout her bones. There was a pause, and then, "Move or I will cut you where you stand."

Ahathriel shut her eyes and could not open them again.

* * *

The healers in Kirkwall left something to be desired. Hawke sat on the bench while Fenris leaned against the wall; his compromise between sitting down as Hawke requested, and pacing until there was a dent in the floor. The Ben-Hassrath departed with much of a fuss when faced against both Fenris and Hawke; their orders had been to take the Herald, not to harm anyone else. Hawke had promised an agonizing battle, so the agents elected to allow matters to rest for now.

"She never catches a break, does she?" Varric yawned, looking ridiculous in his posh Viscount clothes buttoned up to the collar under his bed hair and puffed eyes. The dwarf had been roused by Hawke's messenger, and had ambled his way over to the clinic with a small escort that was more awake than he was. "You'd think that once she retired, people would leave her alone for once. What did they want to do with her, exactly?"

It was obvious that killing her was not their objective; the healers had taken their sweet time to see her, during which time Fenris had panicked, despaired, then wondered, as the woman in his arms continued to breathe normally. He knew that the Qunari could concoct poisons that killed gradually but surely, but it seemed that all this one did was sedate her. The healers had no antidote, but it was simply a matter of sleeping it off. Assassination was not the agenda.

"It sounded like they wanted to turn her into one of their saarebas," Hawke intoned.

Fury brightened Fenris' lyrium markings. The thought of Halla, chained, lips stitched together, had him longing to rush to her room where she rested and gather her into his arms again, never letting go. His muscles spasmed with the need, and he had to grit his teeth and dig his fingernails into his palm to sequester the impulse.

Once upon a time, he would have agreed with the Qunari.

"This is kind of not okay," Varric drawled. "We need to do something about this. Like, Lavellan is my friend, fine, but we also can't have these Ben-Hassrath going around kidnapping random mages in  _my_ city. They really need to get the fuck out of places where they don't have any authority."

"She is also Comtess, of course."

"Trouble is, the Arishok isn't parking his fat ass anywhere around here for you to kick it again, Hawke. Don't think it's worthwhile to send any ambassador to Par Vollen."

"We'll have to go through the agents themselves, and back up our words with action."

"Ahathriel and I will leave Kirkwall," Fenris interrupted. "I expect that the Ben-Hassrath will have no reason to stay once we are gone."

Hawke and Varric considered him.

"You'll go on your own? Just the two of you?" Varric asked. "I don't know, Broody. Seems a bit risky. I'd feel better if you can gather a bigger party before going to a place like Tevinter. The Ben-Hassrath are…good at what they do."

Fenris gritted his teeth again, but Varric had a point. "Who do you suggest, then?"

"Give me a day or two, I'll see if I can dig someone up. I got folks that owe me favors. Huge ones. Though not big enough to warrant waking them up at this hour." Varric rubbed his left eye. "Herald's still playing Sleeping Beauty right now, so it's not like you're going anywhere just yet."

"Why don't you go back, Varric," Hawke offered. "They're my guests. I'll stay with them."

"Yeah, I gotta be in good shape in the morning while you get to snooze. See you later, Hawke."

When Varric left, Hawke reached over to lay a hand on Fenris' shoulder where the armor protected his lyrium markings.

"We'll figure this out," he said.

For some reason, platitudes just worked when they came from Hawke.

"I know," Fenris grumbled. "I just don't understand…what she was doing out in the middle of the night, by herself, without telling anyone."

"Without using the front door." Hawke snorted. "We were right there, still drinking. She could have given us some notice." He paused. "Fenris…how did you know she was in trouble?"

Even Fenris was not sure. There had been a sudden sense of anxiety, right in the middle of his story. All of the sudden he felt the need to check Ahathriel's room. Hawke had protested quietly when the elf warrior went as far as to open the door, but stopped all complaints when they found the room empty and the window ajar. After that, it had been a matter of pinpointing where the commotion was, but that initial sense that something was wrong…that was much harder to explain.

"She has been…sad." It was the only way to describe it. "And she didn't remember me, so I couldn't…I had to keep my distance."

Hawke nodded. "She collected some of her memories from the Nightmare, last time we were there, but it's possible it retained some of the rest that she didn't happen to need at the time."

"I knew she was troubled. I couldn't tell what. I didn't know she was the Inquisitor."

"Fenris, it's not your fault."

"She could have…" Fenris could not say it, could not  _fathom_ it. He turned to look at his friend, silently begging to be told otherwise. "They would have taken her."

"No," said Hawke. "They wouldn't have gotten far. And the Herald has abilities of her own. I have seen her at work. Even if they captured her, she would have had ways to free herself."

"Not from that."

He was trembling. The Qunari's control of their mages were absolute. Ahathriel would have been beaten, tortured. Raped.  _Like a slave._ It would have been unceasing, until her spirit broke and her mind shattered and she became one of their weapons. Saarebas.

"Fenris," Hawke called to him. "It hasn't happened, and it won't happen. You are not without friends here, and we are not to be dismissed, even by the likes of the Ben-Hassrath."

Fenris sucked in a breath and then buried his fists into his eyes.  _Damn it. Damn it. Damn it all!_

"Go to her," Hawke encouraged. "Go to her before you lose your mind. See for yourself that she is safe and sound."

Fenris did not need to be told twice. Ahathriel lay before him in all her slender beauty, glossy black hair framing her face and trailing over her shoulder in thick braids. Her long lashes cast a shadow over her cheeks. Her breaths were deep and slow in sleep, face relaxed in a way it never was during their travels.

Hawke had meant for Fenris to merely observe her, but he could not stop there. He had held her in his arms like a child, carried her through the streets of Hightown and the trails of the Fade, huddled with her as they hid from demons and spirits, and embraced her after battles when her touch and voice were the only things that could calm him. Ahathriel did not know him anymore, but he needed that intimacy like a man dying of thirst, and before he could remember that she needed to give him permission, he was crushing her to him as he shook, feeling her breath against his neck.

_I can't lose you again. I can't lose you again. I can't lose her again._

* * *

There was a black, silent void for a long time before voices started whispering.

_"The queen…"_

_"…shadow of…"_

_"…waiting…"_

She saw Solas, standing high upon a cliff, towering over her. He was far too high to see clearly, and yet she knew he was looking at her, studying her, frowning, before the whole vision faded. The whispers died, to be replaced by a murmur of new voices, both more distinct and yet unintelligible.

When she woke, Fenris was in a chair beside her, staring at a book.

She was in some kind of clinic. There were diagrams pasted on the walls, anatomy and potions ingredients. She had multiple blankets over her, though they were of coarse material. There were murmurs outside the door as other workers and patients spoke; that was what she had heard before she woke.

_I was attacked._

She moved her left arm, which reminded her of the prosthetic. Wincing, she moved her other arm, which alerted Fenris that she had awakened.

He closed his book.

"Ahathriel. How do you feel?"

The question made her realize that she actually felt quite awful. She had a pounding headache that seemed to start from the back of her eyeballs, and her mouth was very dry. She actually wanted to go back to being unconscious.

"Can I have some water?"

Fenris obliged, looking at her with an inscrutable expression.

"I was attacked," Ahathriel managed. "Qunari?"

There was a pause before Fenris replied, "Ben-Hassrath." His voice was so low that she almost missed it.

"Wonderful." She exhaled. "What happened? I went down."

"Hawke and I found you. Hawke drove them off."

"Hm. Wish I had that kind of power."

"Hawke had some history with the Qunari. They know not to mess with him."

"Wish they learned the same about me. Though I guess I didn't have much of a lesson to teach."

If Ahathriel still had the Anchor, she would have disposed of them in an instant.  _Guess without it I'm pretty useless after all._

After a moment of silence, Fenris answered, "I chose my words poorly. Hawke was not their target, and is aware of them and their motives. The Ben-Hassrath did not want to commit to a fight they weren't prepared for, against an opponent with an advantage. If Hawke had been their objective, he would be hard-pressed to escape as well."

"You don't have to do that." It was cute of the elf to try, but that was not what Ahathriel wanted from him. "I know what happened. I can handle it."

"You know nothing."

The words were very matter-of-fact. Ahathriel turned to study Fenris' expression, which was still inscrutable. At least he did not appear scornful.

"I expect they'll be back."

"Yes."

"Any idea what they wanted?"

He turned away, looking unsettled for the first time since she woke.

"Ah," was all she could say.  _Interesting._

Fenris looked at her in alarm. "You expected this."

"No, but it's obvious from your reaction. If they simply wanted to kill me, you would have said so. Such things don't disturb people like us."

He looked down. "I won't let that happen." His voice was, again, so low that she almost could not make out his words.

_"You promised you would come with me when we made it out. I promised the same to you."_

_Why can't I remember this?_

Her headache discouraged any more questions. She turned her face away and closed her eyes.

"You must be tired," she said softly. "You don't have to stay."

"Are you asking me to leave?" His voice had a testy edge to it.

"No," she admitted, already feeling the darkness swallow her in. "I'm…relieved you're here. Glad. Was scared I'll be on my own. Just didn't want to be annoying."

She felt him take her right hand and squeeze tightly before she was out.

* * *

The next time Ahathriel woke up, she was in Hawke's guest bedroom, with Fenris sitting close by once again. She would have been disturbed; this meant that someone had  _carried_ her from the clinic, and she never even woke up; but all she could really feel was resignation.

"Varric said that he's actually found someone. He kept winking and smirking at me. I have a really bad feeling about this," Hawke checked the time. "If you want, I can take you to his office when you're done eating."

Ahathriel did not have much of an appetite. Fenris glared murderously at her as she followed Hawke out, though he said nothing aloud. She was not sure what she did to offend him this time, and when she asked, Fenris dismissed the question and refused to maintain eye contact.

They were stopped by Aveline, who was carrying a folder as she descended the stairs toward her office.

"Varric told me about the attack," said the Guard-Captain. "I am glad you are unharmed, overall."

"Thank you, Captain."

"If you want guards stationed for your protection, I can arrange it. We are here to defend the citizens of Kirkwall, after all."

"I'm a citizen?"

"Comtess," Hawke hissed from the side of his lips.

"You seem to have trouble remembering that," Fenris observed.

"I still don't quite believe it."

"I'll let you know," Hawke told Aveline. "For now, a few extra patrols around Hightown might suffice if you can spare it. I don't know what it will cost to the other areas, but Fenris does not expect that they will stay in Kirkwall for long. If Varric is delivering, it shouldn't be too disruptive."

"I'll dispatch them at once."

Varric was talking animatedly to someone in his office with an Antivan accent.

_"…then the King's eyes went real wide and he goes, 'Inquisitor! I didn't realize that you…looked…like this…' and then the Inquisitor was, of course, really bemused, and then Cassandra points out, 'Your Majesty, we met briefly in Redcliffe when the Inquisition recruited the mages,' and the king just got all flustered—"_

_"Ahahaha! Typical Alistair! Some things never change, I tell you!"_

_"So then the Inquisitor spends the rest of that afternoon asking me, 'do you think it's because I'm an elf? The King didn't think the Inquisitor was an elf? Are my ears pointy enough? Did my hair cover my ears? Why did he say that?"_

"I didn't do that," Ahathriel said to Hawke quickly.

Hawke rolled his eyes and knocked on the door. "Viscount!"

_"Ah, there they are. Come in!"_

Varric was reclining in his chair, sipping tea. Across his desk was a blonde elf, leaned back with his ankle over the opposite knee. He turned his head to regard their visitors, revealing tattoos on the side of his face, though they were not vallaslin. At the sight of Ahathriel, he noticeably paled.

"Hawke, you remember Zevran Arainai!" Varric laughed. "Caught him as he rounded back down to the Free Marches!"

"Zevran!" Hawke sounded delighted, and reached out to give the warrior's greeting, but the elf was still as white as sheet and fixated on Ahathriel.

"Ah," he blinked. "This is the Inquisitor, then? What a…stunning beauty, mia cara. Really, it's no wonder that you swept all of Thedas under your banner! I know I would march to get a load of…" his eyes strayed lower—"…that."

"Zevran Arainai," Fenris drawled. "I should have known."

Falling back on courtesy, as was her habit whenever she encountered someone who seemed friendly but also perplexing, Ahathriel murmured, "Pleasure to meet you, Zevran."

"Ah, but the pleasure is all mine. Goodness gracious, I had no idea the Herald of Andraste is so lovely! You, my dear, must rival all the noblewomen from Ativa to Orlais."

Ahathriel breathed out a laugh, amused despite herself. "Varric, as much as I might believe that one can charm our problems away, you can't expect me to be willing to risk this sweet-talker on the roads."

"Ho! Charm isn't the only thing he's got, Inquisitor. This, my friend, is Zevran Arainai, formerly of the Ativan Crows. Hawke and I once helped him out and he once helped us out. He's good at murdering things, and would likely give the Ben-Hassrath a run for their money. If they get paid, anyway, which I guess they don't, but you get the drift."

"Indeed, I don't think a single red-blooded man—or, indeed, some women, could refuse to defend a fine specimen such as you, Madame Inquisitor." Zevran came forward to take Ahathriel's hand, but Fenris suddenly shot forward and slapped it out of the way.

"Don't touch her," Fenris warned.

Zevran looked at him, slightly startled but with a lingering smile. "Ah, I see. Taken already. Alas, 'tis my bad fortune, it seems."

"Fenris," Ahathriel scolded gently, though did not offer her hand. "Zevran Arainai. I remember you now. Leliana spoke of you fondly. She would be glad to know you are well."

"Did she now?" Zevran chuckled. "That is kind of her, though I suppose she would not want to be seen with the likes of me now."

"I'm sure she would always have time for an old friend."

"Ah, perhaps, but that is not what I mean. Though indeed, the world is a small place."

"It really is," Hawke agreed. "I confess, Zevran, if Varric has somehow convinced you to accompany the Inquisitor, my heart rests all the easier for it. Antivan Crows live up to their name with this one, Lady Inquisitor. Zevran, I trust Varric has briefed you on what is happening?"

"The Inquisition is disbanded, but the Inquisitor is still at work." The blonde elf shrugged. "I suppose it is time I joined another adventure."

"You wanna give a discount on the count of a beautiful lady?"

Ahathriel laughed, startled, though Varric's words seemed to discomfit the assassin.

"Tell you what," he announced, "I'll oblige, free of charge this time, in memory of old times. Last time I helped a Dalish maiden, she turned out to be someone I would regret never knowing. I have a suspicion that this time would be worth my while."

 _The Warden._ Ahathriel felt her heart deflate. Recently, everyone had been comparing her to the Warden. Leliana had compared her to the Hero of Ferelden, Morrigan, King Alistair, even Dagna. It was likely that they could not help it; Dalish elves in such positions of authority were rather rare, in that they pretty much never happened, and to have two such people within twelve years—it would be difficult  _not_ to compare.

Fenris ruined the mood further by stating, "Well this time we  _won't_ be letting her die."

"Si," Zevran agreed, noticeably displeased. "One hopes that an untainted Old God would require less sacrifice than a Blighted one."

Ahathriel exchanged a look with Hawke. These two were going to get along about as well as Morrigan and Sera.

 


	6. Movements in Lowtown

Fenris and Zevran got along just as well as Ahathriel predicted. The two bickered all the way to the Gallows while Hawke and Ahathriel exchanged long-suffering glances. It seemed to get more on Hawke's nerves than hers; she had never met this Zevran and took everything in stride, while Fenris was more than acquaintance and yet less than a trusted friend.

He was jealous, Ahathriel knew. His tones became even more acidic whenever Zevran tried to flirt with her, or even made a passing compliment—of which there were many. She was not sure what to do about this; she had history with Fenris that she could not remember, apparently made a promise that she also could not remember, and with both Hawke and Zevran present, there was no way for her to have a chat with him in private—she would not even know what to say in this private conversation. Zevran, on the other hand, seemed to be misbehaving purely to rile Fenris up; he never actually pressured Ahathriel to respond, and his eyes were usually on the warrior, watching for reactions and delighting in them.

Hawke tried to get the two to behave, though half-heartedly; he was at a loss as much as Ahathriel, and did not seem to know Zevran as well as Fenris. He inadvertently made things worse when he tried to discipline Fenris by comparing their bickering to when Fenris and Anders use to argue on  _every single mission_ , to which Fenris then inflated by stating that Anders was a mage. Zevran took offense before Ahathriel could even internalize that comment.

Things went downhill from there.

"Perhaps I am not the untrustworthy member of this party," said the Antivan. "I can't help but wonder why you would choose to follow a Dalish mage if you hate mages so much."

"I don't hate mages," Fenris backtracked, "and in any case, Anders wasn't just a mage. He  _allowed_ himself to be possessed, all the while barking justifications as if that made it all better."

"So say our lovely Inquisitor gets possessed. I suppose you'll just cut her down because she deserves it."

 "You're the professional murderer."

"Where did this even come from, you two?" Hawke asked, baffled.

"As a rule," Ahathriel drawled, "I try not to think about the possibility of being possessed. I'll remind you all that any one of us can actually be possessed, not just mages. And I'm with Hawke; this is not a proper conversation topic."

Fenris growled. "An assassin-for-hire decides to join us on a highly dangerous mission without compensation shortly after we were attacked by Qunari spies. Is it really a good idea to include him in our party?"

"I object to the implication that an assassin is at all the same as a Qunari spy!"

"People don't  _do_ that, Hawke. You know this as well as I do! He has some ulterior motive."

"Well, everyone has motives."

Ahathriel had enough. "He's helping because I look like the Hero of Ferelden. He said as much himself. You can relax, Fenris."

The blunt statement earned her a few seconds of blissful silence.

"Ah, mio cuore, the Lady Inquisitor is as smart as she is beautiful. How can anyone not be pulled along in her wake?"

"You need to stop," Fenris spat. "I'm not fooled by any of your tricks,  _assassin._ "

"Careful, warrior. 'Tis not wise to provoke someone who might stab you in your sleep."

"You two need to get a room," Ahathriel finally remarked.

This might have made things worse.

"Now that's an idea…" Zevran started eyeing Fenris up and down. "Those markings are quite exotic—"

"Touch me and I'll wring your neck."

"That's what she said, and I'll have you know that one can bring about great pleasures while—"

"Alright, seriously, enough," Hawke cut him off. "We're here."

The Gallows. It was an imposing territory, with huge walls of stone surrounded by an angry sea. There were remnants of old carvings and statues which were thoroughly damaged, but Ahathriel could make out the details of chains. There were people on scaffolds, working on new sculptures. One looked like he was making a giant eagle. The old Circle tower stood to the side, while the building for Templars stood on another.

Hawke led the way, Ahathriel just behind, and Zevran and Fenris moodily flanked the back. They approached the Circle first. There were mages coming in and out, something that was apparently a relatively new sight, and they looked at Hawke rather warily when the party passed through the doors. No one stopped them, however.

The Circle itself was rather dismal. Light penetrated through sparse windows and bits of damaged openings in the walls. There was no doubt the tower was meant to be a prison rather than a sanctuary. Several dwarves were setting up stained glass windows depicting Andraste and other subjects of lore.

The First Enchanter's office was completely windowless, done in dark carpeting and illuminated only by candles. Ahathriel did not even see the First Enchanter until Hawke called to her.

"Brother!" Bethany exclaimed, running to him as Hawke swept her in a tight hug.

"You need to move out of this office."

"Ugh! The construction! At least here I get peace and quiet! Who are these?" Bethany stepped back to regard them. "Fenris! You look familiar, and I don't believe we've ever met."

She was a fine-looking woman, pale with long black curly hair. Like all humans, she was much heavier-set than elven maidens, and also tended to look older, but her face was kind and her eyes glittered with good humour.

"Bethany, this is a friend I made, Ahathriel. She was part of the Inquisition before it disbanded."

Bethany was none the wiser. "A pleasure."

Ahathriel inclined her head. "Hawke spoke often of you. I am glad to have the opportunity to meet you in person."

"This is Zevran Arainai. You two met briefly, but I don't believe you've been properly introduced."

"Well met, Lady First Enchanter," Zevran bowed, "I am absolutely dazzled to meet you. Hawke never mentioned having such a fine sister."

"Careful, Zevran," Hawke laughed, "that's my sister. I won't have you toying with her."

"Outrageous!" Zevran exclaimed. "I am but commenting on the truth!"

"Well you've gone and she's going to be totally insufferable from now on! In any case, Bethany, there's a matter of some delicacy, but we require the services of a mage. I know everything is busy and chaotic right now, but if there's anyone from the Circle you can spare, Ahathriel is going to Tevinter to tackle an important business. It'll take a while. I was hoping you know someone who is trustworthy and reliable."

Fenris snorted, which earned him a warning glance from Hawke.

"Brother," Bethany sounded disappointed, "I need my enchanters and you're  _not_ taking the students."

"This might be more important than the College." 

Bethany stared. "Don't tell me there's another war already."

At Hawke's silence, the woman sat down heavily in her chair. "What  _now?_ "

"Suffice to say, anyone you can spare, we need to know."

"This is unfair."

"I know."

"Is this some kind of setup? What is this? You can't expect me to send people without knowing what they're in for."

"You may have noticed that all the elves are gone."

"I suppose? With the exception of your three friends?"

"Are you familiar with the elven gods, First Enchanter?" Ahathriel asked.

"To an extent. Why?"

"It turns out one of them is still around," Zevran replied. "In fact, one can argue that  _all_ of them are still around. And they're stirring to take back what was theirs."

"Maker," Bethany looked at Hawke, who only nodded solemnly. "But…what are you three doing about this? Why do you want my mages?"

"We want to stop him," said Ahathriel.

"Why?"

"Because the return of the Elvhen would require removing the intruders," Ahathriel replied. "I did not save this world only to see it ruined."

Bethany stared. "You're the Inquisitor. Brother, she's the Inquisitor. Why didn't you go ahead and say it?"

"I didn't want to alarm you."

"I'm not a  _child_ , Brother. I deserve to know whom I'm speaking with." The First Enchanter glared at Ahathriel. "And how do I know that my mages would save us, rather than help this elven god?"

Ahathriel held her gaze for a moment before turning around and walking out.

"Inquisitor," Hawke called, sounding alarmed. "Inquisitor, wait."

Fenris stuck close by her, though he did not speak. Hawke caught up as Ahathriel turned to the front doors.

"Inquisitor, please, Bethany meant no offense—"

"I'm not offended. It was a fair question."

"Then—"

"She's not ready," said Ahathriel, looking at Hawke squarely. "I appreciate your help, but I think I have enough to start on. Kirkwall is still in disrepair. We'll veer back to recruit you later, if the war is summoned in full, but I have no interest in convincing anyone to believe in a war they don't actually see."

"I can—"

"Champion," Ahathriel interrupted again, "I'll do what I can, but let's be honest. This isn't my war. This isn't my battle. This is yours. You'll decide when you're ready. Until then, I don't need an army. I just need enough talent to set up the foundations. If the gods will it, there won't even be a war. If there is war, it's not mine to fight." She raised her hand, with the dwarven runes glowing as she made its fingers flex. "I've played my part. What I do now won't be the meat of it. That comes later. There's no reason to exhaust your resources before the game even starts, and certainly not on my account."

"I understand, but they can be of great help to you."

Ahathriel turned away and proceeded to the doors. "Not if they doubt me."

* * *

"What now?" The assassin asked, once they were outside. The sky was cloudy, and the smell of the sea wafted heavy and strong from the harbor. "No mages, no templars, I'm guessing? Are we to set forth, just the three of us? I have a few ideas for that." He winked at Ahathriel, who did not acknowledge him. Fenris barely managed to restrain himself from growling like a dog.

Ahathriel looked out to the sea. The wind lifted her braids, making her look transcendently beautiful. Fenris squeezed his fists, suddenly filled with self-loathing. He should have known he was not good enough for her. What was he thinking?

"When I was Inquisitor," Ahathriel began, "People flocked to me because they all saw the tear in the sky and there were rifts, everywhere, that needed closing. Now there is a threat that is hidden. No one would volunteer for that. The King of Ferelden told me that when the Warden recruited her party, it was much the same; the Blight was upon Ferelden, but it started from one location, which meant everyone else was free to pretend otherwise if they chose. Leliana and Morrigan had volunteered because they were aware, but everyone else…how did she recruit her company?"

"Fortune and circumstance," Zevran replied. "She recruited me because I tried to kill her! And failed, quite miserably, I confess, though to be honest I wasn't trying all that hard. She recruited a Qunari by freeing him from a village—those particular circumstances were not shared with me, but it was also by chance that he was there and she had come upon him. Then there was a Circle mage…and a dwarf…pretty much similar stories."

"Then we'll see if fortune and circumstance favors me. I doubt we'll find anything here in Kirkwall."

"So we _are_ setting forth," Zevran chuckled. "And pray, where?"

"What of your homeland?"

The assassin's mirth immediately dissipated. "I'd rather not. You see, the Viscount referred to me as a 'former Crow'. That is not often a title used for the living."

"Then might I suggest Tevinter?"

They all turned to regard the newcomer. Clad in linen, with bright white hair and a long, pallid face, she looked like an unassuming human. There was a light in her eyes, however, that intimated she was not as harmless as she appeared.

Fenris moved to flank Ahathriel, though he did not reach for her sword.

The human smiled. It looked ugly and mirthless.

"A slave and a prostitute," she said. "Your company has declined in quality these days, Inquisitor."

"I can say the same of Tevinter etiquette," Ahathriel replied coolly.

The white-haired woman smirked. "The disbanding of the Inquisition has everyone talking. The Inquisitor, without her army, and yet what appears to be recruiting for some secret mission no one can explain. Some say it would be wise to get rid of such unknown variables before they become…complications."

Fenris looked to the side. Several workers appeared to be lounging. There were people milling about the docks, and some passed by them, hurrying from the harbor. He could not tell if any of them were paying attention to them.

Zevran had a keener eye.

"Three by the left wall, two by the right. Four at the docks. All wearing armor. What shall we do, my lady?"

Ahathriel sighed. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

"I am Magister Iunia Adelia Karissius. I come with an invitation from the Magisterium."

Karissius. Quick to condemn blood mages who were 'too stupid to keep their own secrets', but a fluent practitioner herself. Even Danarius was wary of her, though Fenris had never seen her in the flesh. Very rarely did Karissius do her own legwork; she was powerful enough that she could send others to do her bidding. It was said that her library was filled with ancient elven tomes, and she knew spells no one else could even dream of. Fenris snapped his head to look at her, and then at Ahathriel. _No. She would never. Not her._

"Oh?" Ahathriel raised her eyebrows. "And what sort of invitation is this?"

"These are unusual times, Inquisitor, but as always, great power is key. I was told you are well-acquainted with Magister Pavus. He led the motion to escort you to the Council of the Altus. Whatever your current objective, Inquisitor, you can be sure that making an ally of the Magisters will only be to your benefit."

 _Magister Pavus?_  Halward Pavus was well-known across the Tevinter elite. Danarius had spoken of him in neutral tones.  _How did Halla ever come across him?_

"How thoughtful of Dorian," Ahathriel inclined her head. "Please convey to him my gratitude, but at this time I cannot go yet to Tevinter."

There was a sudden sinking energy to their surroundings as Karissius retorted, "I'm afraid I must insist."

"Then Tevinter courtesy leaves a lot to be desired after all."

Karissius waved a finger. Zevran left Ahathriel's side in a blur. The elven mage summoned a barrier just as an explosion rocked the ground. Seconds later, it vanished with a puff.

"We'll see what this rattus is made of!"

Ahathriel lunged forward, striking down with her staff. Fenris drew his sword. No one else mattered; he was certain Ahathriel had handled worse, but Karissius was no small foe.

Ahathriel was, however, powerful in her own right. She spun, the spells sparkling into form around her before she unleashed strands of lightning. They glanced off Karissius, however, who struck back with a ball of fire.

Amazingly, Ahathriel blocked—her staff transferred to her left hand as a blade of light sliced from her right. The fire deflected in a shower of sparks. Karissius stumbled back. Ahathriel pressed the offensive, this time sweeping her blade in relentless cycles. Fenris shook himself out of his astonishment to guard her back. People were running from the docks. Others were running toward them—College mages, Fenris realized. Hawke was among them, sword already drawn.

There was another flash of light, and Ahathriel was flying in the air, spinning from the momentum. Karissius followed the blast with shards of ice. Ahathriel's body convulsed as they struck, and red splattered.

"Halla!" Fenris screamed, raising his sword, but a spell from his right had him twisting to dodge. A Tevinter mage, with dark skin and pale yellow eyes, pressed forward with another spell that had Fenris reeling back as his vision blackened. Blood roared in his ears, and he raised his sword only to feel it bend under the weight of an attack he could not see. He lunged forward, feeling his blade bite into flesh. Spells whipped over his shoulder, and he ducked low, completely disoriented. 

"Halla!" He cried again.  _She was hit she was hit—_

"Fenris!" Hawke yelled, and a hand grabbed his bicep where it was exposed. "This way!"

The ground shook, throwing them both of their feet. It shook yet again, as if something huge were striking it. There was a distant sound of a huge structure cracking. There was another sound of hooves striking pavement, and then the air seemed to  _vibrate_ , followed by a high-pitched hissing that could only mean one thing.

"Demon!" Hawke yelled. "Stand back!"

Images were starting to form through the black that clouded Fenris' vision. He could make out a bright, shining figure, but the murk obscured it before he could tell what it was. He sensed the attack before seeing it, and pulled Hawke out of its path. It seared the ocean, spray hot mist as the wind blew it back. The ground shook again, sending the two warriors sprawling.

"Karissius!" he heard Ahathriel shout.

_She's still alive…_

Hawke heaved him up by the arm, and they both dove to the side as something whisked by. Fenris lost his footing and staggered to his knees. He blinked. The bright figure persisted when he looked up. It was some kind of demon, tall and lithe. Mages circled it, as did templars. Hawke left his side, joining the fray as the demon spat vibrating orbs of light.

There was a crash from the side. The walls of the Gallows were crumbling. Ahathriel seemed to fly in the air, but she had been thrown. Karissius followed after, staff raised high and glowing red, but she gave a sudden jolt and the head of her staff flickered and died. Ahathriel landed on her left prosthetic, flipping to her feet in a graceful movement that seemed to be more of an accident, but she swung her staff with the motion and sent icy bolts of her own. They punctured, each one leaving behind a red stain on the linen. Karissius wavered to the side and toppled. Her staff clattered out of her hand.

The demon suddenly blocked his view. Fenris raised his sword and struck away the energy orb that shot toward him. His vision was clearing now, and the rush of blood in his ears no longer so deafening. He let his lyrium markings light up and raced forward, hand outstretched. He struck, and the demon roared, backing up. He sliced with his sword, feeling it cut through something thicker than water and yet not solid flesh. Over his shoulder, a familiar blade thrust forward as well. Together, they aimed for the core, but the demon shuddered and both Fenris and Hawke were thrown back. Fenris felt his head collide with the ground with a sharp, lancing pain, and momentarily forgot all.

A pale green light roused him, and Ahathriel was beside him, pulling him to his feet.

The demon was distracted by the college mages and templars, who were luring it toward the docks. The ground cracked, and seawater sprayed up in between. Ahathriel slipped, and Fenris grabbed her before she could fall into the water. She steadied, then slammed the end of her staff to the breaking ground.

Giant roots, thick and covered with bark, shot from the cracks. They sliced through the demon, impaling it. With a horrendous shriek, it flailed once, twice, then deflated like a withering plant. Ahathriel released the breath she was holding, and the roots also withered and sank back into the stone, leaving seawater to pool up. Chunks of the ground broke off to sink into the water. The demon continued to shrivel and fade until there was no sign of it left.

Hawke stepped forward, hands on his hips, to regard the ruined harbor.

"Well, shit," he said.


	7. Confessions

The Viscount of Kirkwall congratulated Zevran on assassinating a renowned Tevinter magister, and Ahathriel for undoing months of restoration of the docks. The fallout from this event was going to take a while to resolve.

"You know, fixing things costs money," said the dwarf, "and the more you need to fix, the more money it tends to cost."

"The docks were already falling apart!"

"Yeah, right."

Zevran was laughing as he cleaned the knife pulled from Karissius' neck. "A trouble-maker, I see. This adventure will not be uneventful."

Fenris glared at the mage healing his head. There were nasty bruises along the scalp, and he had a slight residual headache. Ahathriel sighed as she regarded the ruined docks from within Lowtown.

"In any case, this will be a right mess, what with the Ben-Hassrath waltzing around like they owned the place, a Tevinter magister dead on our own doorstep; just the paperwork is going to take weeks. Though, hohoho, it's a good one, most powerful magister with all sorts of spells and blood magic gets felled by an assassin. When all's said and done, a knife does the trick. I like that."

Zevran and Varric exchanged a few good-natured slights against other specialties while the Hawkes rolled their eyes. Around them, mages were tending to the wounded while Aveline and the other members of the Kirkwall guard inspected the debris to search for other survivors. There were casualties from the scuffle; Karissius did not mind collateral damage, it seemed.

Ahathriel sat down next to Fenris once his mage was done with his work. She kept a little space between them, but he felt her presence as surely as if they were skin-on-skin. He wanted to close the distance, but restrained the impulse. It took all the willpower he had. Even their initial meeting in the Fade had not been this difficult.

"We're going to have to leave as soon as possible," Ahathriel said to him in a low voice, while Zevran and Varric continued to banter. "The longer we remain, the more of this will happen."

Fenris considered how to respond, and ultimately kept silent. Hawke was talking to the Knight-Commander as they regarded all the damage. This was going to have to be a problem he and Varric solved on their own. Ahathriel would not be able to help them.

"We need to decide now where to go, while everyone is confused. What do you think, Fenris?"

Fenris watched the assassin tilt his head back and laugh.  _What a prick._

"Not Antiva, I suppose." The former crow had been useful, as much as it pained him to admit.

"I was thinking Anderfels. Less trouble, and the people there are hardy folk, with the darkspawn at their doorstep all the time. However, I want to make a stop at Wycome. We can take a boat."

"Why Wycome?"

"My clan is there."

_Fair enough._

"I had a fine little friend, Oghren was his name," Zevran was saying, "who was quite a pleasant sort of drunk…"

"I hate to break those two up," Ahathriel muttered. "They appear to get along so well."

Fenris' face twisted in distaste.

Ahathriel sighed and stood up.

* * *

They secured a private ferry that was large enough to stock supplies for a few days' journey by water, but not large enough to hold more than ten people at once. It had a canvas that provided shade and shelter. The captain was a human with white whiskers that framed his face, and a severely receding hairline. He wore a cap to cover this, and looked rather alarmed by Fenris, though he treated Ahathriel kindly. Hawke clasped Fenris' arm before they departed, while Varric waved regretfully from the docks.

"They are three dear friends of mine," said Hawke, "so I am trusting you with this, Captain."

"Not a problem, Champion! No one knows these waters like I do!"

Hawke grinned, and then turned to Ahathriel. "Inquisitor, take care of Fenris for me."

Ahathriel was not sure what got into her, but at Hawke's words, she suddenly reached up to run her fingers through the elven warrior's white hair.

"Don't worry, Hawke," she promised, "I won't let anything happen to him."

Fenris looked at her with an inscrutable look, while Zevran sighed loudly.

"What would I give to have your hands run through  _my_ hair; I'm at least as cuddly as our wolfish friend here, I promise—"

There was good wind and they had a good sail, plus the water was flowing in the direction they wanted. They pulled from the harbor in the midst of relative confusion. Fenris, unused to boats, sat heavily down in the middle while Ahathriel and Zevran chatted with the captain. After an hour, he was ill, and they found him retching into the Waking Sea as the boat rocked on the waves.

"About time you earn your sealegs, eh?" Zevran laughed good-naturedly. Ahathriel shooed him away to tend to Fenris.

"If you want," she offered, "I can put you to sleep. Iron Bull mentioned that it helps."

Fenris kept his eyes downcast at this. Since she had intruded on his personal space already, Ahathriel braved running her fingers through his hair again. He leaned slightly into her touch. His skin was sweaty.

"No." He swallowed. "I'll be fine."

Ahathriel observed him as he continued to lean over the side, ready to hurl if the urge took him. Zevran, bored, went back to chatting with the captain. Realizing they had a rare moment of privacy, she took the opportunity and leaned against the other elf again.

"Fenris, I realize that you don't like Zevran. I'm not asking you to. But you don't have to punish yourself like this."

"I'm not  _punishing—"_ Fenris cut himself off with a swallow, and let out a sigh of discomfort.

"He's all words," said Ahathriel. "He doesn't want to harm either of us or else we'd both be dead. You saw what he did to Karissius. Your friends trust him and I have sources that said he's the good sort. He flirts with everyone, you don't have to take it personally."

Fenris swallowed and sighed again. He cast a dark shadow over her. The man was very tall, Ahathriel noted again. He would have been tall for a human, let alone an elf.

Having him nauseated and sick was probably not ideal for this sort of conversation, but she might not get another chance, and Ahathriel wanted to know. She checked on Zevran and the captain again before turning to regard Fenris.

"You hate mages. Everyone kept saying so. What did we do, in the Fade, that made you so…did I do something to make you think you owed me or something?"

Fenris looked up, face grey and eyes green and bright. "What?"

"I don't remember," said Ahathriel. "I keep trying to recall, but there are so many blanks. I don't remember seeing you there. And you hate mages. You never had anything good to say about every other mage you've met. You hate them. Why wouldn't you hate me too?"

"…I don't—"

"I'm just trying to understand. What did we do? What happened?"

Fenris blinked rapidly, utterly speechless.

Zevran stepped out from under the canvas, tossing a flask of water to Ahathriel, who caught it. "How is our fine warrior friend doing, mia cara?"

Ahathriel handed the water to Fenris, knowing the moment had passed. He took it without a word, lifting it to his lips and rinsing his mouth before spitting into the current around them. Slowly, Ahathriel withdrew from his side. Fenris did not turn to watch her go.

* * *

"I'd like to know more about you, Zevran."

The assassin froze for a moment, as if startled, before turning slowly to her.

"I'm flattered," he said. "How can I refuse? Ask away."

Ahathriel considered. "Your accent is Antivan. Were you born there?"

He smiled. It looked curiously ungenuine, as the elf seemed to be naturally exuberant. "I don't know. My mother was Dalish, actually, but she left her clan for a man who may or may not be my father. I was very young, of course, so I don't know if I had always been in the city."

Ahathriel blinked. "Your mother was Dalish? Which clan?"

"I don't know. Why do you wish to know?"

It was her turn to be startled. "I was simply curious. I wanted to know who is accompanying me on this venture."

"Ah." He seemed to consider her. "My mother's clan had very little to do with who I am. I was raised in Antiva. My mother never went back and they never came looking for her."

"…I see. How did you wind up becoming an assassin?"

"I was good at stealing. This caught the attention of the Crows and they decided to train me."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Did you ever think about doing something else?"

"No. I was good at killing. I like it. I don't think I would fit in with anything else. To me, being an assassin is very much like being a mage for you. I don't think about what else because it is what I am."

"But you left the Crows."

"Si, I left the Crows, not assassinating."

"Why did you leave the Crows?"

"Because I failed to kill the Grey Wardens, and the Crows don't tolerate failure."

"The Crows had wanted you to return to them," Ahathriel remembered. "Leliana showed me the report. You didn't want to return."

"I suppose you can say that there were hard feelings. I wasn't ready to forgive."

It made sense, Ahathriel supposed. "So you tried to kill the Grey Wardens and wound up fighting with them instead?"

"For a while, at least."

"With the Hero of Ferelden."

His smile this time was even stranger than the last. "Si."

It was pain, Ahathriel realized. Zevran's smile looked strange because it was strained. He was in pain.

"Were you two close?"

Zevran's lip twisted as he looked away. "I wouldn't call us  _close._ She was annoyingly chaste. Very warm and very focused. She didn't let anyone cross that line. I offered to at least show her…alas, she died a virgin, never knowing the pleasures she could have had."

Ahathriel pondered as the boat rocked, to and fro, to and fro, before asking a question that had been bothering her for years. "Do I look like her?"

Zevran considered her, his smile tight. "No. You don't. Not normally. Only when you smile or frown. Then you look exactly like her."

She blinked, puzzled, and reflexively frowned.

"See, there," Zevran pointed. "It's like you're her doppelganger."

 _What kind of optical illusion is that?_ Ahathriel wondered.

"The Warden also had black hair," said Zevran, "and dark eyes, but she was rather different. She was not a soft woman; she was an archer, a rogue. Very good with the bow, and with animals. Very witty, rather cheerful, brutally sarcastic at times, but she has a way of making emotional fluff seem matter-of-fact. It's easy to talk to her about your deepest fears and regrets because she doesn't make a big deal out of it. Talking to her is a bit like talking to a man. You, on the other hand, are much more of a woman. You are warm and soothing. Your posture is all…mage-like. No one would ever confuse you with her. But when you smile or frown, it's like you are her twin."

 _"Are you related at all to Mahariel?"_ Leliana asked in a whisper, her eyes haunted under the shadow of her hood.

_"No, why?"_

_"It's nothing. Just…when you were unconscious, I didn't notice, but when you just said hello…I thought I saw a ghost."_

_"What was the Hero of Ferelden like?"_

_"You don't know?"_ Morrigan's golden eyes seemed to penetrate her soul.  _"I take it you've never met her, then."_

_"I never had the pleasure, no."_

_"Interesting."_

_"Forgive me,"_ King Alistair was very pale.  _"You look like someone I…knew, once."_

"She did," Zevran added, "make a point of getting to know everyone she worked with on a personal level. 'Tell me about your adventures. Tell me about Antiva.' Direct, to the point, and…undeniable, in the end, even if you try."

"This Warden must have been very special," Ahathriel said softly. "Everyone I come across who knew her seemed profoundly touched by her."

"She was a special woman. There will be none like her again. But enough talk of the dead, mia bellezza. I am rather curious about  _you_. How does a Dalish mage end up leading an organization like the Inquisition? And where did you ever find such a fine specimen of a man such as our dear elven warrior?"

"The Breach," Ahathriel smiled. "And, if it is to be believed, that is the answer to both questions."

* * *

Fenris, for all his determination, did eventually doze. When he woke, he was covered in his cloak. Ahathriel sat near his head, while Zevran sat opposite her. The sun was lower, and the captain was adjusting the rudder wheel.

"He always seemed to know more than he was letting on," Ahathriel was saying. "After a while, the sort of things he knew; they did not seem to be the sort of things you just pick up by happily dreaming. He spoke to Abelas as if he knew him, and Abelas had been calling me a shem as viciously as anyone else would call us knife-ear or rattus. Plus, for someone like him, who seemed to value arcane knowledge and usually advocated for its preservation, it seemed odd that he didn't want to drink from the Well. I said we shouldn't drink from it; let's destroy it. Morrigan went ahead and drank. Next thing we knew, Mythal was alive, whoever drank from the Well was bound to her will, and she was Morrigan's own mother."

"Ha!" Zevran exclaimed, looking like he might snap in half from holding in his laughter. "That is a stroke of bad luck if I've ever seen one! Oh, she must have been furious! What did Flemeth do?"

"She told Morrigan how to defeat Corypheus. Nothing else that I knew, but she did control Morrigan as easily as if Morrigan were a part of her. It was…actually frightening. I think I should have shouldered that burden, but I can't help but feel relieved that I didn't drink from the Well."

Fenris sat up, feeling exhausted and drained, but at least he was no longer as sick.

"No, it sounded like Morrigan had it coming," Zevran declared. "She was the one who scoffed at the consequences, no? She was so sure the warning was just to scare people off. Morrigan was always so sure of herself. You should hear her opinions; she gives them with absolute certainty of their truth, and anyone else who disagrees is a coward or an idiot. About time she saw her own reflection, and being bound to her mother, well, if she must be bound to an old god it might as well be to the one who raised her."

"She has a very odd relationship with her mother."

"That's one way of putting it!"

"I worry for her. When we encountered Flemeth, there was no trace of…tenderness, from her. On the one hand, this was a woman she had raised from childhood. On the other, she is an old god, with an old god's whims and nature. Do you suppose Morrigan is in danger from her?"

"Let me put it this way," Zevran answered, "When we went to kill Flemeth, she knew why we had come and was completely unsurprised by this turn of events. If anything, she was amused. If she did indeed raise Morrigan, it seems odd that she would raise her to be so suspicious and independent. I suspect Morrigan is in no more danger from her than from any other god, and if anyone could break free of such magical bindings, it would be Morrigan, and Flemeth might even make it easier for her just for her own entertainment. I would honestly be more worried about Mythal's welfare than Morrigan's. Morrigan is  _feisty._ "

Ahathriel leaned against the wall. "How are you feeling, Fenris?"

Fenris looked at her, then at her hands. She did not like her prosthetic hand, he knew. She left that arm hanging on her side while the other was on her lap. He wanted to take her real hand, feel its softness, how small it was.

But the assassin was there.

"Do you feel up for eating something?" Ahathriel asked.

"I know  _I_ am famished." Zevran stood abruptly to go to the hatch, leaving the two of them alone, but somehow it was still difficult for Fenris to reach out to her.

"You look better, "Ahathriel observed, and reached out to brush his hair behind his ear. Her fingers skimmed the markings on his neck, causing him to flinch violently. He batted her hand away before he realized what happened.

Frightened, Ahathriel jerked back, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Shit, sorry," Fenris grabbed her hand again to make sure he did not hurt her, but Ahathriel tugged her hand out of his grasp.

"S-sorry," she blinked, "I didn't mean to—"

"I didn't—"

"—I won't do that again."

That was  _not_ what Fenris wanted.

"No. I—" he felt his face grow warm. "I'm just sensitive…where the markings are."

"…Oh. Did I hurt you?"

He huffed a laugh despite himself. Here he was, worried he might have sprained her hand, and she was worried that brushing his hair back without his permission hurt  _him_.  _Maker, you gorgeous creature._

At his laugh, she laughed too, lips stretching into a soft smile.

He suddenly wanted to feel that smile with his lips.

Banging from under the deck compelled Ahathriel to turn her face away, reminding Fenris that the last thing he wanted her to think was that he was some kind of savage lecher.

"I should help him. You stay here," she stood and left his side.

* * *

When night fell, Ahathriel slept bundled up in her cloak. Her breathing was heavy, almost like snores. She had slept as deeply when she had been sedated by the Ben-Hassrath. _She must be exhausted._  

Zevran and Fenris regarded the moon from either side of her. The Captain wanted to sail a little more before going to rest.

"You need to loosen up," Zevran declared, throwing his feet up and leaning back. "She's not going to love you back if you're all closed up. She won't be pushing down your barriers like a knight barreling through. She'll see your walls as a line she can't cross and you'll be stuck pining after her forever."

"Like you would know. I don't see anyone hanging off  _your_ arm."

Zevran snorted. "You're a son of a bitch," he said flatly, "but I'll have you know, there's only one woman I couldn't hook around my arm. In my youth, I've always been able to ensnare anyone I desired. It was my foremost talent, besides killing. Considering I am an assassin, that should tell you something about how accomplished of a lover I am."

"I don't want her  _that_ way," Fenris spat.

"No?"

" _No._ She's not some cheap whore, like the women you've no doubt been infected with."

To his surprise, Zevran laughed out loud.

"I see. Mamma mia, even Alistair wasn't this bad. You expect me to believe that when you look at her, you don't feel  _any_ stirring in your loins?" He patted his own obscenely. "I know a man, my brooding friend. I know what men are capable of. But feel free to lie to yourself."

Fenris gritted his teeth as he felt his lyrium markings itch to light up. "I don't care what you think you know, assassin, but mark my words, if you lay a finger on her, no one will even recognize you as a living thing when I'm done with you."

"Oh, I'm not touching her. I don't get involved in triangles. They are so messy. Besides, my heart is already taken. The Inquisitor is all yours. I was just trying to help you with your self-imposed dry spell, but that's the last time I volunteer to help someone. Such a shame; you could have gone somewhere in life."

"Right, because ruining her would be going somewhere in life."

Fenris regretted the words instantly. There was an awkward silence.

_Fasta vass._

"Who said anything about _ruining_?" Zevran sounded bewildered. "So long as it's consensual on both sides…?"

"Shut up."  _This is a disaster._

"It's you, isn't it?" the assassin sounded like he had such an epiphany. Fenris wanted to punch him. "You think you'd ruin her. You're holding back because you don't think you're worthy." He laughed then. "Well that makes sense, actually. But sex is sex. Why deny yourself over something so trivial?"

Fenris wished he could close his ears. Or rewind time.

"You've had bad experiences." Zevran lowered his legs and sat forward. When Fenris did not answer, he further deduced, "You were raped."

"You need to shut up."

"You were a slave," Zevran breathed in. "Oh, of course. Did she free you?"

"I freed myself!" Fenris suddenly yelled, shooting to his feet. "I saved myself! And I killed the bastard  _and_ the bitch who thought they could ever hold me back!"

A slender arm suddenly wrapped around his waist. He looked down. Ahathriel was awake. She was still lying down. Her eyes glowed in the darkness.

_Shit. I woke her up._

She was probably awake the entire time, and Fenris had stupidly forgotten about it, so focused was he on Zevran Arainai.

Ahathriel moved to let go, but held on when Fenris continued to tremble. His lyrium markings were glowing slightly, but he had not phased.

"Zevran," said the Inquisitor, "can you give us a moment?"

"Of course, my Lady." Zevran winked as he stood up. "The stars are bright at this time of the night."

When he left, Ahathriel leaned into Fenris, still holding him with her right arm. "Sit down," she ordered in a soft voice.

Fenris obeyed. His legs shook as he lowered himself and he nearly fell. Ahathriel kept her arm around him as she sat up. The cloak fell from around her shoulders.

"Did I know this? Before?"

Fenris ground his teeth. "Yes." It would have been difficult for her not to know.

She considered him. Her eyes continued to glow. She was beautiful, and Fenris was like a rot next to her. He wanted to cling to her, but he also wanted to fling her arm away and keep her as far away from him as he could.

"Did I love you, before?"

He ducked his head. "I don't know."

 

"But we planned on staying together," Ahathriel pressed.

After a moment, Fenris nodded. It was true, however differently things had turned out.

She studied him for a while. "I'm sorry I can't remember. I realize we were close. It's possible my memories are still in the Fade and I would have to go back to retrieve them…without the Anchor, it's not easy for me anymore."

Fenris clenched his fists.  _I can't love you now,_ was what she was really saying.  _I don't remember what might have made me love you and I can't see it right now._

"I can try and find Morrigan. She drank from the Well. Perhaps she knows how to retrieve such memories. In the meantime, can…we can start over."

_That's what we've been doing._

"Whatever happened to you…whatever you were made to do…it wasn't your fault."

The Fog Warriors flashed in front of his eyes. He stiffened.  _I killed them. I had a choice then, but I still obeyed._

"You don't have to be ashamed of what you were. What you had been…could have been anyone. Could have been me."

Fenris snapped his head to look at her. Ahathriel, sobbing as she was yanked into her chains.  _"No, Fenris, **please** —"_

_"I won't be a slave again. I've fought too hard for freedom to lose it now over a filthy **mage** —"_

_"You chose freedom,"_ Ahathriel whispered.  _"How can I blame you for that? You did not betray me for the sake of greed, power, or vanity. You still bear the scars of what you have endured. Freedom is not a small thing for you to throw away for a stranger. Come on, I see the temple ahead. Remember what the warden said."_

_"Halla…" Shame. **This is what I am—**_

He was on his feet and away from her. His right fist stung. The wood of the wall was still vibrating from the impact. Ahathriel was silent behind him.

"I…" He took a breath and willed himself to calm down. He needed to calm down, but he still saw her tear-streaked face and terrified eyes. They haunted him as much as Hadriana's sneer and Danarius' touch.

"Fenris," Ahathriel called, when the silence persisted.

He needed to give her some kind of answer, some kind of explanation for why he reacted the way he did.

"I betrayed you," he said softly. "We were…trying to find the temple, where we could come…back. Your…mark, kept activating and teleporting us to different parts of the Fade. It dropped us in…the lair of some kind of fear demon. It knew that…my greatest fear was to become enslaved again. It knew I would do anything to prevent that. It took the shape of…Hawke. And offered me a deal. Hand you to the Tevinter magisters, and I walk free. At the time…I even forgot I was in the Fade. Danarius, Hadriana, all these Tevinter mages had surrounded us. They said they didn't want a battle because it would…stain their robes. Said if I handed you over, they would let me walk out. You tried to remind me about the mark and the Breach but I couldn't listen to you because…you were a mage."

_"Fenris, listen to me, this isn't real—"_

_"She's a mage, just like us. You know mages can't be trusted—"_

_"Fenris, no one's going to make you a slave again, but if you don't listen to me we'll never get out of here—"_

_"I swore to myself I would never go back. **Nothing** will make me go back."_

"I fought you. You didn't want to fight back. I pinned you down and helped them take you. I knew what they would do to you. What it means to be a slave. I knew what you would face, but I just stood and watched as they dragged you away. Then I turned my back on you. The demon let me walk out. I left you without a second glance. Of course, I only thought I left. I was still in its lair, trapped by my newfound complacency. I thought I had what I wanted, at last, but I was thoroughly under its spell. Then…you came for me. You got out, somehow, and you found me, and helped me leave the lair. And…you forgave me. I didn't think it was possible but…you said I would never have to fear… _that_ , as long as you were around. And that if anyone tried and thought they succeeded, that you would come for me."

Ahathriel was still and silent behind him. Fenris was afraid to look back.

"In the end you helped me leave the Fade. You had remained behind to hold the portal open. It closed whenever you stopped, so only I could make it through. I realized then that you were everything you said you were. And that you meant it when you said you'd forgiven me."

_"Don't worry, Fenris. I still have to find the Divine anyway. I'll find my way out, I promise."_

_"I'll look for you."_

_"Likewise."_

_"I won't leave you next time."_

A soft smile.  _"You had better not!"_

"You don't have to carry that with you," Ahathriel said softly. "You chose freedom over a stranger. Your freedom, which you've worked hard to earn when others take it for granted. You need not carry that guilt."

Fenris huffed a bitter laugh. Even without her memories, Ahathriel was the same. There was no convincing her, he knew. He did not need to, anyhow; it was his burden to bear, not hers.

"I don't want to think of you going through what I did. The thought of that…sickens me." He shuddered even as he spoke. "When the Ben-Hassrath almost got you…"

She pressed into him from behind, slowly and gently so he could avoid her if he wished. Her arms came around his waist. It was as intimate as they had ever gotten since their reunion. He trailed off, though she said nothing. She simply stayed there, arms around him like a support.

They stayed this way for a long time. When it was clear she was not leaving him, Fenris reached down to take her hands in his. The prosthetic was warm to the touch, while the right hand was soft. He could envelope her entire hand with his own.

 _How did you do anything with this?_ He looked at it in wonder. Her prosthetic was its mirror in size. She had led the world against the ancient darkspawn with these hands.

"Come on," she pulled back eventually. "If we neglect Zevran too long, I'm afraid of what he might do to the captain."

"You think he might murder him out of boredom?"

"To be honest I'm more afraid he might bed him. Neither of us know how to man the boat."

Fenris snorted. "You have a point."

 


	8. Souver'inan Isala Hamin

The city of Wycome had imposing infrastructure not unlike Kirkwall. The stones were tanned and brown, giving the city a mustard hue. There were elves on the docks, which was actually an odd sight these days, but most of the traffic was human and dwarven.

There was one elf who was clad in Dalish leather. As the boat neared, Ahathriel was able to make out his vallaslin, and then his features.

"Reva!" she called out before they even got close enough to throw the rope around the post. "Reva!"

"Someone's excited," Zevran chuckled, as Ahathriel leaped off the boat. Reva, a brown-haired, blue-eyed elf with an angular face, turned just as Ahathriel sped down toward him.

"Ahathriel?" he blinked, and then his face broke into a grin. He reached out and took her hands in his. "What are you doing here? What happened to your hand?"

Zevran and Fenris made it off the boat at a more sedate pace.

"This should be fun! You get to meet the parents," Zevran smirked at Fenris, who groaned.

"…A lot of things happened since I saw you last, Reva," Ahathriel summoned another smile.

"It figures you'd be busy these past two years," said the other elf. "Come! The Keeper would be so happy to see you!" He started pulling her by the hand, but Ahathriel held fast.

"Hold on, Reva, I have companions. Zevran! Fenris!"

Fenris moved behind Zevran, who was quick to start flirting with the Dalish elf. Reva looked bewildered as Zevran sprang compliment after compliment. Ahathriel covered her mouth to stifle her amusement. Fenris had never seen her look so happy.

"…I've come across several Dalish but I must say you are utterly _dashing_ …"

Reva led them into the heart of the city with Zevran chattering the entire way, and Ahathriel giggled next to Fenris, so overcome with mirth that she was crying by the time they arrived. The assassin was so distracting that neither thought to take in their surroundings until Reva started uncomfortably pointing them out.

They were in a square. The marketplace was to one side, with numerous stands displaying goods. On the other side was a round building with a domed roof, which was where the Council met. Another building, made of white marble and etched with carvings depicting scenes from the Chant, served as administrative offices. Between was a large, lush green lawn, framed with flowers. The late Duke's abode, a great palace surrounded by an iron fence, stood to the side.

"The Keeper is there," Reva pointed at the administrative building. They followed him there.

Inside, the building was covered with carpets and tapestries. The walls were made of dark red wood. Chandeliers hung along the length of the corridors. Various humans traversed the halls. They looked briefly at Ahathriel and Fenris but did not otherwise bother them.

Up a spiral staircase, a new wing opened, this one with wooden decorations and green satins and stones adorning the roofs and sides. It all looked more  _elven_ , so to speak; perhaps because this was where the Dalish representatives operated.

One of the doors opened as they traversed one hallway. Out stepped an elven woman with thick coils of braids about her head that trailed down over one shoulder. She was clad in pale green and grey, slender in frame as were all her brethren, and carried a wooden staff upon which what looked like antlers sprouted from the tip.

"Keeper!" Ahathriel called out, and ran ahead to her

"Da'len!" the Keeper exclaimed, and when she reached her, the two embraced.

Fenris studied the older mage. This was a woman who chose Ahathriel over a child of her own clan. He was not sure what to make of her. She had a kindly face, with shallow laugh lines about her eyes and mouth. Likely middle age, though she could pass for a woman in her thirties with certain lighting. The two mages spoke rapidly, with bits of Elvish interspersed with common tongue.

"You've lost weight, da'len," the Keeper exclaimed, murmuring something else Fenris could not catch. "What happened to your hand?"

"So much has happened since we met last," Ahathriel took the older woman's hands. "Keeper, I don't know if you've heard: the Inquisition is disbanded."

"Yes, we were aware of that bit of news. I was told that you remained in Denerim for a time."

"Yes, I was a guest of King Alistair and Queen Anora. I have much to tell you!"

"Come," said the Keeper, "let us go to the clan. The others will be glad to see you." She looked up at the two men, prompting Ahathriel to quickly introduce them. Zevran wasted no time inserting himself into the Keeper's good graces.

"You, a Keeper? You look far too young for that!"

"Well, I wouldn't look so young if this one took better care of herself! It is good that you have come home, da'len. After so much time away from your people, you must be exhausted."

Ahathriel's shoulders sagged, looking every bit like the tired child the keeper kept calling her. "Melava inan enansal, ir su araval tu elvaral, u na emma abelas."

"Indeed," the Keeper smiled. "Time to rest."

"Nay," Ahathriel shook her head, "but we can talk when we join the clan."

Zevran looked at Fenris. For once they were in agreement; the frequent dips into Dalish were very annoying.

* * *

Though the Keeper often entered the city for Council meetings, the Lavellan clan remained with their aravels and hallas outside the borders. Seeing them made Ahathriel long for the days when this had been all she knew; life was simpler then, and beautiful in its simplicity. Reva shouted out that Ahathriel was back, which caused a mild uproar—suddenly, Ahathriel was surrounded by dozens of faces, her right hand squeezed and left hand probed.

"What happened to your hand?" One huntress, Darel, cried in dismay. "This is dwarven work!"

Uncomfortable, Ahathriel withdrew. "I'll tell you later," she stated, unsure if she intended to keep that promise.

There were many people who looked the same; the Hahren, the hearthmistress, the Halla Keeper, but also many who were different. Two young men, both taller than her, had been only up to her shoulder when she last saw them two years ago. She did not recognize them until Darel mentioned their names.

"You've grown…" Ahathriel was speechless.

Then there were faces that were completely new; a young toddler who was too shy to meet this aunt he had never met before, an infant that still could do little more than sleep, and some newcomers who came from other clans and had bonded into this one.

"A lot has happened while you were away," said one of the hunters. "Oh! Where is Neron? She showed a talent for magic a few months ago."

Cold slammed into Ahathriel, though her smile remained in place. "Oh? That's odd."

Neron, with light brown hair and pale grey eyes, was six years old and a gangly set of limbs under a round, chubby face. She was losing baby teeth, and looked adorable when she smiled. She did not know Ahathriel very well—last time Ahathriel saw her, she was four years old and afraid of the imposing Inquisitor, but she gave her a hug nonetheless, as if they were sisters.

"Are you learning from Keeper Deshanna?"

"Yeth!"

"You are the First, then?"

Neron nodded enthusiastically. 

"Well that's wonderful!" Ahathriel laughed.

* * *

"She's not a replacement by any means," Deshanna Istimaethoriel stated solemnly. "She manifested. She needed training. We considered trading her, but you hardly need more training from me. Not after everything you've already learned."

"Of course. I'm not staying anyway. It was what I meant to talk to you about. I'm glad the timing worked out."

They were sitting to the periphery of the camp, where they could speak alone. Zevran was off, trying to seduce everyone, including the hahren. Fortunately, this seemed to amuse everyone more than discomfit them, particularly the elder ones who seemed almost familiar with this style of interaction. Fenris, strangely enough, had become a favourite of the children, who all thought he looked exotic and peculiar due to his tall height and markings. For some reason, they were not afraid of him, even though Ahathriel was certain she would have been at their age. Fenris also showed an unusual tolerance for them, allowing them to inspect his markings the way boys would inspect bugs or girls would inspect jewelry. At one point he even allowed a child to sit on his shoulders, standing at his full height so that the child could crow at the view. How he managed to look so dignified in spite of that was a mystery for the ages.

"You know you'll always have a home here," the Keeper looked concerned. "Whatever the changing seasons and tides, you are still Lavellan. You are one of us."

Ahathriel inhaled, but found she could not speak. Her eyes started stinging, and she had to let that breath out without words, truth or otherwise.  _You knew all along that you couldn't come back. That every time you visit it would be temporary and as a guest rather than as one of them. Why are you so affected, now that the clan has moved on? Were they to wait forever for you to decide to come back from the Inquisition?_

She was silent for too long.

"Da'len," the Keeper leaned forward to take her hand. "You must believe me. You saw how happy everyone was to see you. To have you back with us. We are so proud of you. You give all of the People a noble name. Nothing would please us more than to have you among us again."

"There can only be one First," Ahathriel said quietly, "and there cannot be so many mages. I have to leave, for the sake of Neron."

"That is not true. Too many untrained mages, perhaps, but you are hardly untrained. You have walked physically in the Fade and withstood all its dangers. You are hardly a threat, and Neron can benefit from having another tutor."

It was very tempting to believe. Keeper Deshanna always had a way of comforting her when such words would be empty platitudes from anyone else. Yet Ahathriel was no longer a child. She had played with Queens and danced with Kings and been all but a Queen herself. She had sentenced people to death and others to lifetime confinement. She already knew she could not come back to this way of life. The Dalish would not understand. They welcome her now only because they have not seen all that she had become.

"Ma vhenan," the Keeper's arms circled around her. "You are in pain. I saw it in your eyes in Wycome. Come, your Keeper is here. Tell me what troubles you."

She could not deny the woman who was her mother in all but name.

"I feel…lost. I don't know what I'm meant to do anymore. Once I was Inquisitor. I had a mission; a destiny. The whole of Thedas responded to me. I feel I have outlived my use, and everyone has moved on and though I try, I cannot. I feel like there is no room for me."

"Oh da'len…" the Keeper embraced her, and Ahathriel leaned into the older mage. "You were never here just for the Inquisition. Your life is more than that. Certainly, the end of the world is passed and we emerge victorious, all because of you. I want you to think of it this way: before, you decided the path of Thedas, but you had no choice. The mark was on your hand, and people who rallied behind you also caged you to your burdens. The most important choice was not yours to make. Now you are free. There are no limits to what you can do. You can retire and come back to the clan and we will nurture and defend you as we always have, and you will nurture and defend us as we will for you. You can be as involved or apathetic as you please. You can disappear from Thedas so that none of its trials will touch you. These are all  _your_ decisions. Many times we are not born with a specific purpose. We can make our own destiny. I am so glad, da'len, that you survive to have this chance!"

Though she wanted to remain in the embrace, Ahathriel slowly drew away.

"I can't stay. The fact remains." The longer she stayed away, the less of a home this will be. This she knew. "There've been…developments."

The Keeper paused for a moment, before murmuring, "Tell me."

"Fen'Harel."

The older mage stiffened. "You have come across him?"

"He had fought beside me." Solas, sneering at tea, at Morrigan, at Sera. Solas, laughing fondly at Ahathriel's questions. Solas, taking her left hand, looking at her with conviction and yet regret. "I didn't know it was him. He introduced himself as an elven apostate. We all thought that was all he was. As time went on he seemed to be more, but I never would have guessed."

"Fen'Harel is known to be an expert trickster. You needn't feel guilt over that. Not with the Breach and Corypheus on your mind."

"There's more. We were wrong about a number of things." Ahathriel looked at her Keeper. "I've encountered some of the original Elvhen. I faced Mythal in the flesh. And you may have heard that outside Wycome, many elves have disappeared…there is a lot I need to tell you."

* * *

"It's my turn!" cried a little girl, bottom lip quivering as she held her arms up. Fenris obliged, lifting her into his arms. She wiggled to get comfortable and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I want a sword just like that!" A boy exclaimed, and looked like he was about to touch the weapon despite many warnings not to.

"Liv'hen," he glared in warning. The boy sighed dramatically.

"Did you fight with the Inquisition?" asked another.

Fenris glanced at Zevran, who had ultimately abandoned his usual tricks in favour of watching Fenris get smothered by children. The assassin looked far too amused.  _Prick._

"Ahathriel is the prettiest mage!"

"Are you a prince?" One girl asked him.

Dumbfounded, Fenris could only stare.

"She can't bond with him, he's not Dalish."

"He's an elf, though."

"Maybe his tattoos mean something?"

"They mean something elvish!"

"I want my vallaslin to look like that. They are all glowy."

"Are you joining the clan?" asked the girl in his arms. "That would be so nice. I bet  _no one_ would  _dare_ hurt elves if you were around!"

"You've been there for  _forever!_ " Yet another boy cried. "I want to go up!"

"I just got here!"

"You've been there for so long!"

Zevran made him suffer the children for two hours before coming to draw their attention away with ease. At this point, Ahathriel and Keeper Deshanna were speaking with the warleader and hahren. Fenris hesitated to join them at first, but when she saw him, Ahathriel extended her hand in silent beckoning.

"The Dread Wolf is a master trickster. Lies and untruths are among his main weapons. How do we know we can trust his word?"

"There are those who corroborate," said Ahathriel. "There are immortal elvhen who yet remain, and remember what happened long ago. If we really stop and think, how else can a grand, immortal race fall to shems unless there was a rot from within? I have worked with humans. Their evil is not so absolute. I feel he speaks the truth."

"Then his mission is a noble one," said the hahren. "Too long have we been subdued by the shemlen, and forced to creep in places they leave unwanted. This land was ours first and I see no reason we shouldn't take it back."

"I agree," Ahathriel said, to Fenris' surprise. "I, too, long to restore the glory of the Elvhen, but regardless of Fen'Harel's reputation, the fact remains that he is a god and gods have their own motivations and methods. Ultimately he will achieve his own ends. He is willing to unmake this world to realize his vision; that vision may not be good for all of us, and he will not tolerate anyone else's. I have seen a goddess with her nature revealed. They do not love as we do. They do not grieve, they do not fear, and they do not forgive as we do. I do not trust him. Though we have fought beside each other, had talks late into the night, I cannot pretend to know Solas. He had spies within the Inquisition and he was the reason for the Breach. He took my arm and left me to conduct his mission alone. He reached out to the city elves but not to the Dalish. Who knows what, exactly, he has planned?"

"Well said," the Keeper agreed. 

 _This Solas took her arm?_ Fenris frowned, though he said nothing.

"What is your plan then, da'len?" the hahren asked.

"Investigate. Lay the groundwork, if warranted. Ultimately the battle belongs to another, whichever new Champion may rise."

"Does it have to be you?" Deshanna asked.

"Solas knows me. If there is any chance for a civil conversation, it will have to be with me."

"After everything you have gone through, vhenan," the Keeper reached out to stroke back her hair. "I fear you may lose more than your arm to this being. You need not struggle so. You are weary. Can't you remain with us a little longer?"

"I rested in Denerim for too long as it is."

"Denerim is not family," said the hahren. Ahathriel looked at him, her eyes unusually bright.

"Solas owes me answers," she said softly. "He acknowledged as much himself. Vir Assan."

"Vir Adahlen," said the hahren.

"I am not alone," Ahathriel turned to look at Fenris, and there was a tenderness there that struck him as surely as an arrow. "But I do need more than what I currently have. I did not finish learning all that I could of our culture and history. I was hoping…perhaps you know something, Hahren."

"I will have to think about this," said the elf.

"Come," said the Keeper, guiding Ahathriel away. "Fen'Harel would need to plan as well, and it wouldn't do to rush into this. We cannot decide in a moment. The elders and I will discuss the matter further. You have done your part."

"You really want me to rest. Why is everyone so insistent? They didn't want me to leave Denerim either."

"Perhaps they saw what we see, ma da'len," was all the Keeper said, "and now that we have you back, we shan't give you up so easily."

She herded Ahathriel into Fenris, to which neither of them knew how to respond at first. Deciding to be daring, Fenris reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She cooperated, which made him feel more relieved than elated.

"In any case, I don't believe you have eaten yet, and it is nearly suppertime."

* * *

Suppertime was completely and utterly stolen by Zevran, who entranced the children with tales of the Blight. For someone who was remorseless about his career, he knew how to censor himself. Ahathriel found herself equally as enchanted; it turned out, Zevran had been privy to many things the other companions of the Warden were not. He also had delightful commentary about the others who helped the Warden.

"Now, would you believe it, but the Divine had a beautiful voice when she was Sister Leliana, and often when we camped she would take out her lute and sing songs for us until we all retired to our tents. Unfortunately, Oghren got it into his head that he should teach her some dwarven songs; he was even less sober than he usually was, you know, and then caused such a racket that it was all we could do not to just abandon that camp with him in it. The caterwauling was so loud that this group of bandits heard from half a mile away. They came by and shot him in the head with an arrow just to shut him up. Unfortunately, he was wearing a helmet, but it did do the trick; he stopped singing, but picked up his axe and went at them. At first, we all grabbed our weapons to help, but the Warden stopped advancing for a moment and held her hand out. She then turned to the rest of us and said: 'You know what, I think he's got this.' She sat down and we all shrugged"—there were a lot of giggles at this point—"and Leliana just picked up her lute and started singing, while in the background Oghren was hollering and bellowing. She got through three songs before he stumbled back to camp and declared he was going to bed. We had to remind him to clean his weapon first."

As his tales went on, the Dalish were all head over heels, and Ahathriel could not remember laughing so hard in her life. Even Fenris twitched a smirk, though he was looking at her when he did it.

"With so many accomplishments, Zevran," the hearthmistress exclaimed, "did the King of Ferelden give you any reward?"

"Reward?" Zevran raised his eyebrows. "Aye, Alistair did offer. Land, titles, a position in his employ, but I didn't want to be chained down to Denerim, you see. I like…freedom. And I had just left my old life. I wanted to travel, to go where I please and do what I please, so I didn't accept. It would have been something though."

"I heard the Hero of Ferelden was the most beautiful woman ever, far better than any  _shemlen_ ," one child remarked. It was a matter of personal pride that the Dalish had produced two such heroes to lead Thedas out of chaotic times. "She was the smartest and prettiest, and she was the best archeress, and fighter, and—"

"Yes indeed," said Zevran with an indulgent smile, "but perhaps her best feature was that she was very kind and compassionate. She took the time to help those in need whenever she could. Everyone who came across her, be they human, elf, dwarf, or qunari, had only good things to say about her. Unless they tried to kill her. In which case they probably couldn't say anything."

"But Ahathriel is nicer and prettier and smarter than the Hero of Ferelden. She's from the  _Sabrae_ clan. Ahathriel's one of  _us_."

"Yeah!"

"Oh gods," Ahathriel chuckled. "I forgot how incredibly awkward children can be."

"They are both Dalish, young ones," said the hahren, "this is not a competition."

He took over storytelling when supper was over. By then the sun had set, and after an hour, they all retired. Keeper Deshanna gently asked Neron to share a tent with her parents so that she could share with Ahathriel. The gesture made Ahathriel feel torn; on the one hand, she had no place beside the Keeper now. On the other, she had not realized how much she needed that maternal support until the arrangement was made. Deshanna had always made Ahathriel feel safe. They often had long talks into the night, about everything from magic to boys to the state of politics. The Keeper had been by her side when she developed fevers in her sleep, when she had nightmares, when she lied awake from insomnia. Ever since the Conclave, Ahathriel had been utterly alone. How dearly she had needed a mother.

Zevran clicked his tongue at Fenris when he heard about this arrangement. "You are  _the_ most hopeless case I have ever come across, and I have come across a lot of hopeless cases."

"What?"

"Forget it," the assassin shook his head as he walked away in disgust that may or may not be feigned.

The exchange made Ahathriel very embarrassed, but she was hardly going to choose Fenris over a woman she would call Mamae had conditions been different. Fenris, to his credit, did not seem to think this was a big deal, opting to dismiss Zevran's words as nonsense. The Keeper, however, appeared to make a mental note of this, and brought it up later when they were bundled up in the tent.

"What exactly is your relationship with those two young men?"

Ahathriel huffed a breath. "I don't even know."

"I am worried. Both of them have killed before. I see it in their eyes. There is a shadow over both. Are you sure you can trust them?"

"I have killed too." It was something that the Keeper did not appear to understand, despite Ahathriel mentioning this to her before.

"We know the value of the lives we take," the older mage replied. "Andruil taught us to honor all living things. Those two do not follow her way. I am not sure they are as respectful."

She had worked alongside an ex-Ben-Hassrath, an Orlesian spymaster, a Tevinter mage, not to mention all the characters that were under her employ, and had glared at Corypheus in the face. She should be beyond fearing such things now, but these words provoked anxiety as easily as if she were still an untested child. It was like a reflex that she needed to struggle to suppress.

"We've been together for some time now," she murmured. "Fenris a little longer than Zevran. Neither of them have hurt me. They didn't even hurt each other, for all the glaring they do."

"How did you come to be in their company, da'len?"

Ahathriel hesitated, realizing how this would all look.

"Vhenan?"

"Fenris I met on the road. Apparently I had met him in the Fade, when the Breach first opened in the sky, but I don't…actually remember that."

Deshanna was silent.

"I know how this sounds."

"What about Zevran?"

"Zevran was a friend of a friend. Friend of several friends. They recruited him to help me on my journey."

"So you don't actually know either of them."

"Keeper…" Ahathriel's gut twisted, knowing she appeared inexcusably foolish.

"Hush, da'len. It's not ideal, but it's all we can work with, I know. With these threats to your life, at least having them around lends some form of security. They haven't harmed you."

"No."

"How did you convince them to come with you?"

"I couldn't shake off Fenris. He said he made some kind of vow to find me and protect me. Zevran agreed in memory of the Hero of Ferelden."

"The Hero of Ferelden?"

"Yes. I remind him of her. He said I look like her when I smile or frown. I don't know. Keeper, is it possible that I'm related to Mahariel?"

The Keeper thought. "I suppose it is possible, but from the arlathvhen, the Hero of Ferelden was the last Mahariel. Her father was the Keeper of the Sabrae clan, but he died before she was born. I don't see how you would be, unless you were a cousin of some sort."

"You don't know?"

"I'm not familiar with your family, no. I know you're not a Mahariel, of course. Your father was a warleader, Devshae was his name. Your mother was Iluvia. She died shortly after you were born."

"What clan were they from?"

"They were from the Upri'vhen clan. We rarely cross paths unless it's for the arlathvhen. I can find out. That is something worth knowing. If you are related to the Hero of Ferelden…that would explain certain comments I've heard. This Fenris, though. His markings are very alarming, and you don't have any memory of him and yet he claims you two met in the Fade…there's a certain look he gives you. I haven't decided how I feel about it, in light of all this."

Ahathriel hesitated. "…I think he loves me. He all but said it. He said that we had originally promised we would find each other once we escaped the Fade."

"…Did he say you loved him?"

"…He said he didn't know."

The keeper relaxed. "Ah. He could easily have lied. It would have made things easier for him if he…hm. That gladdens my heart." She paused. "However, supposing that you didn't…and you don't…"

"Hm?"

"Someone like him may not be able to tolerated love unrequited."

It was something that had bothered Ahathriel, though in recent days she had let her guard down in favour of trying to recall what old feelings she might have had.

"I've faced far greater dangers than Fenris. I can handle him."

"You won't have to handle him alone," the Keeper insisted. "In any case, while you are all here, we'll see what we can surmise. Sleep, now."

* * *

 He was surrounded by trees. He went in circles along what paths were left in the soil. He had no idea where he was going or why he was even pressing forward. There was no past or future here, only the present, and he was alone.

He was not alone. There were red templars. Apostates. One of the two, but ultimately apostates because they were more dangerous. He drew his sword and charged. They fell to it like straw dummies.

Hawke was behind him, striking down others.

"And, _as usual_ , the mages get blamed," Anders drawled.

Fenris turned to Hawke in disgust. "He sees evidence after evidence and still persists. What would it take for him to accept that _all_ mages are dangerous?"

"You are quite something," Anders spat back. "You know what it means to be a slave and yet you endorse it."

"I _don't—"_

"No?" Anders leaned forward, irises pale and skin grey. "If it were up to you we would all be chained up like the Ben-Hassrath!"

Fenris blinked. Rain pattered against canvas. He had been dreaming. Zevran twitched slightly in the sleeping roll next to his.

_Anders._

He never liked Anders. He tolerated him because Hawke did, just as he had tolerated everyone in the group. When Hawke slew him, Fenris did not think much of it; Anders was just another mage, and his death was a long time coming. Hawke had mourned, though. He was the one who made the decision and struck the killing blow. He left Anders without a look back, but he had been looking back ever since. When they first left Kirkwall he would sigh every so often, his eyes empty and his wit silent. Before they all went their separate ways, Fenris found Hawke drinking with Varric; Varric was already unconscious, while Hawke was raising his tankard to salute the abomination.

_"Here's to you, Anders, for dying for what you believe in."_

Fenris could not understand Hawke's grief for someone so unworthy. Hawke turned to him and, bleary-eyed, slurred,  _"You know what your problem is, Fenris? It's not that you were a slave. You allow your slavery to justify being filled with hate. You see only evil around you and none of the good. The world will always fail you because you **want** it to fail. If Andraste were to stand right before you, you wouldn't see her at all."_

Hawke had never opined one way or another. He would listen to the arguments between Fenris and Anders, Fenris and Merrill, Anders and Merrill, over and over, without inserting unless the conversation looked like it might deteriorate to violence. He never remembered what he had said to Fenris, but Fenris had carried the hurt within him ever since. He had looked up to Hawke, had wanted his approval and felt secure in his support. They parted ways shortly after that, leaving Fenris oscillating between indignation, denial, and self-doubt. He could not help but feel that although Hawke had condemned Anders for what he had done, he had also ultimately chosen Anders over Fenris. Fenris had disappointed Hawke. 

Even so, he had not dreamed about Anders in a while. Not since meeting Halla in the Breach.

The rain seemed to intensify.

 _I can't believe I use to be that man._ Looking back, he could see what Hawke meant. Back then, he would have slain Ahathriel without a second thought. He would have felt just as cold and uncaring at her death as he did with Anders. The mere thought had him curling.  _No. Don't think about that._

He thought of how Ahathriel sought shelter in the Keeper's arms. Fenris never imagined her to be a fearful child, but never had she looked as vulnerable as when she had been next to her old mentor. Her relationship with Deshanna was different from Merrill's with Marethari. Marethari loved Merrill but did not trust her. Deshanna understood Ahathriel completely and fully supported her. She also did not seem to like Fenris.

Fenris could not blame her. Even without his history of hatred and bloodlust, he still was not suitable for Ahathriel. Before, Halla was just a Dalish mage, a girl with a bright soul and a beautiful heart. Now she was the Inquisitor. How could a former slave match that? But Ahathriel needed him; this he was certain. She was going to need him again when she proceeded to Tevinter. After that…he would see. Maybe they would part ways then. Plans changed.

Thunder rumbled. Through the canvas, there was a flash.

Zevran suddenly sat up, crawling to the front of the tent to peek out. It was too dark to see anything until another flash illuminated the torrent.

Blowing a faint whistle, Zevran sat back, but then leaned forward to peek out again, as if drawn to the spectacle. There was another series of flashes.

"The rain is going to come in," Fenris grumbled.

Zevran ignored him, continuing to stare for a moment before suddenly grabbing his armor. Fenris sat up at this, lyrium lighting up.

"Thanks," said Zevran, as if Fenris had done it for him.

"What are you doing?"

"There's movement out there. They look a bit too big to be our lovely hosts."

_What?_

Fenris grabbed at his own armor. "Who would target the camp in this weather?"

"Who indeed? But, not the craziest stunt I've ever seen someone pull." Zevran grabbed his daggers and dove out into the rain.

Swearing, Fenris followed.


	9. In a Hero's Wake

_Most Holy,_  

_Fondest regards from Antiva. I hope all is well with you. Business is healthy for the time being, and I have high hopes that this will continue through the winter season. In about a month I may be coming down to Orlais to cement a business partnership; I know you must be incredibly busy now, but if you can spare a moment for an old friend, I would love to catch up with you. I would never wish for anything like the Breach and Corypheus, but I confess I do miss the camaraderie of the Inquisition, the motivation and teamwork that had us marching steadily toward a great mission. I long to reconnect to old friends._

_I definitely miss Lady Lavellan as well. I heard she remained in Ferelden as a guest of the King and Queen for several months after the Inquisition was disbanded. There was talk of her having gone north to the Free Marches, but she hasn't reached out to any of her associates. I know the days of your old networking have long passed, but I was wondering if you ever received word from her. I think of her as a dear friend, and I had thought she felt likewise, but since the Exalted Council I have heard nothing from her, and she owes me a chance to give her a grand welcome reception in Antiva. She seemed rather dispirited when I last saw her. If you have any news, would you care to share?_

_As always, if circumstance finds you in Antiva, or you ever want a break from being Divine, the Montilyets will always be proud to be your host._

_Sincerely,_

_Josephine_

* * *

"Work up a sweat! Have at it, men!" Cullen barked, as the dummies rattled with multiple blows. "Don't you dare put the training sticks down! I know you're thinking about it. If you do, it's a hundred push-ups under my boot!"

A young lad, red curls and cyan-blue eyes, jogged up to him. "Ser, the Divine. She's here."

Cullen did a double-take. "The what?"

"The Divine, ser!"

"Maker, don't they announce their visits? That's usually how they do it, right? Are you _certain?_ "

There was nothing for it, though. He pointed. "Call Devairous over for me."

"Yes ser."

The boy ran back into the building. Moments later, a tall man with dark skin and tight black curls came out.

"Need a break, Chief?" he teased.

"You wish. I need you to take over, have to see an important visitor."

"Sure thing, ser, yes ser."

Cullen patted the man on the back. "Don't you boys even think about slowing down!"

There were thirty men this session, each with his own dummy. Lyrium withdrawal had a way of sapping one's energy. It would be easy to give in to the impulse to languish through the tremors and the overall sick feeling that came with it, but from personal experience, Cullen knew that the true way to combat it was activity; the more, the better. Tire the body out, and one can sleep somewhat better at night. He had a few who tried to dodge the exercise early in the program, but right now, every man was giving it all he had.

Inside the center itself, Cullen saw the priestesses in the corridor by his office. The Divine was in the room, looking at his figure of Andraste. A familiar face, underneath all the garb. Sometimes it was still odd to imagine that someone he had bickered with at the war table was the most powerful figure in all of Thedas.

"Your Worship," he bowed.

She turned and smiled. "Cullen! Please, dispense with the formalities. I am here more as an inquisitive friend than as the Divine, anyhow, though I do approve of what you've done with the place."

"I do my best," Cullen saluted, noting how her face appeared to have aged somewhat over the past couple of years. Being the Divine was clearly stressful work, which was no surprise given the sweeping reforms she had instituted, as well as the backlash. He started to remark that he had not been expecting her visit, but at the last minute, changed his mind. "Shall I take you on a tour?"

"You can have someone take the sisters on a tour," the Divine grinned, "but I confess, I would like to sit for a while and catch up with an old friend."

This was somehow even more confusing than her unannounced visit. _Are Divines allowed to do that?_ But then this was Leliana, and they had teased each other at the War Table and over meals often enough that maybe,  _just maybe—_ "Of course."

He summoned some members of the staff, who were happy to introduce the priestesses to the various sections of the rehabilitation facility. Divine Victoria took a seat as Cullen called for tea. She seemed happier; being the Divine suited her well, and he imagined it must be a relief to be able to bask in the glow rather than hide in the shadows.

"I've been doing this for years now," said Leliana, "but it still feels like yesterday when I first started, and it still feels like I have so much more to learn. After a while, I just want to withdraw from it all. Take a vacation."

"I don't see anything wrong with that."

"Hm, in small amounts and well-timed, perhaps. Maker preserve us, but while I knew people can be demanding, I think I've grown enlightened in that regard. How are you doing, Cullen? You look well."

"I am well. We've discharged fifteen templars over the last three months; they finished the detoxification process and have all found employ in Orlais, Ferelden, and the Free Marches. We're doing good work."

"Indeed." The tea came, and the servant, a young human girl with grey eyes and brown skin, poured for them. "Thank you."

"Of course, Your Worship."

They settled

"I do miss all our old colleagues," Leliana sighed. "I feel like as life goes on…I meet more and more people but it's harder and harder to leave old friends." She bowed her head for a moment.

"When the Warden died…" she began, and Cullen hesitated for a blink's worth before sipping again. Leliana never spoke of the Warden; she made a few remarks when prompted, but was otherwise close-lipped; "…I can't tell you how devastated I was. She was good and beautiful and wise. Stronger than most men, kinder than most women. She was a solid pillar upon whom we had all leaned. She was vulnerable too; she was afraid of failure, and her nightmares had her restless every evening. But mostly, she was noble and good and graceful, thoughtful and generous to her friends, and a sister to me in all but blood. When she died, I couldn't understand how the Maker could let her…at first, I tried to think He took her to His side, but I've learned since that…that was impossible. I pray for her, every day. She was Andraste's Chosen, you know?"

Cullen learned of that only after the Hero had died. At first there had been a great deal of skepticism; a Dalish knife-ear, who was not even Andrastian, one of her chosen? It seemed like one of those exaggerated accolades that were bestowed when supporters were trying too hard to promote their idol. Everyone knew King Alistair had mourned the Warden greatly when she passed, and though well-intentioned, the young sovereign could be a bit naïve and childish in his gestures. But then Eamon himself validated this, as did Teagan, and then Greagoir also voiced an account of the Hero, flying back from the Frostback Mountains to deliver to Redcliffe the Ashes. Knowing all of this, it really was a wonder that the Hero was so forsaken by the Maker. It could be simply that she was an elf and the Maker was as prejudiced toward elves as humans were, in which case he was incredibly grateful that Ahathriel was still alive.

"Divine Justinia will always be the one who lifted me out of the dark," Leliana continued. "Rhaeyn was the one who showed me I could stay. Both great women, taken from us too soon. How different the world would be if they were both here still. You know, Ahathriel sometimes looks a lot like her. It's…haunting, at times." 

Cullen did not know the Hero so well that he could see the similarities, but he had heard Morrigan occasionally muttering about this, and, surprisingly, Dagna, who would loquaciously prattle on about how she 'just cannot place where, or why, or how, but it's there, somewhere, sort of, well more like a  _lot_ , but only sometimes'.

"Do you think they are related?"

"I don't think we will ever know." Leliana shook her head. "I never dared spare resources to find out, and now…with everything that's happened…I know Rhaeyn was once part of the Sabrae clan, but no one has heard from them since the Circles rebelled. I fear they may have been wiped out."

This left Cullen feeling somehow even more depressed than before. "I see."

"Her mother was not of the Sabrae clan, though," Leliana went on thoughtfully. "Her father was the Keeper, see. He and her mother fell in love, but the clan was attacked by the Avvar and he perished. She lived, or so it was said, but abandoned Rhaeyn when she was born. Rhaeyn was raised by the clan and her mother ventured off to places unknown. Rhaeyn often said that if she survived the Blight, she would want to find her mother. It was something she dreamed of while growing up, but never had the chance; she was afraid of leaving her clan and being abandoned entirely. Even when exploring, she always traveled with friends."

"So her mother could potentially be alive."

"Yes. And if not, her clan might be. I suppose time will tell if we ever know the truth." Leliana sighed. "Rhaeyn would be thirty this year."

Cullen blinked. "Thirty. She was so young when she fought during the Blight."

"She always seemed older. Well, not _older_. More mature is perhaps the better phrase. Humans are bad at reading elves anyway; everyone probably assumed she looked younger than she was. She didn't lack for authority either," Leliana chuckled. "You know, I never did find out Ahathriel's age."

"Really?" Cullen was surprised. He was use to Leliana knowing all sorts of secrets. It was what made her terrifying.

"No one would know except her clan, and I never had the occasion to ask them. I did try to find out from others around Haven and Skyhold, but the subject never came up. I just know that her birthday likely had been around the time Corypheus attacked Haven. Josephine mentioned a banquet, and the chefs were deciding what kind of cake to bake. At some point they agreed to try to bake a halla. That…would have been interesting, if it had come to pass."

"I think she would have loved it. Cassandra told me she stared after the golden halla for a long time before herding it toward that Dalish camp."

"They are quite beautiful. Rhaeyn's vallaslin was of the Halla goddess, Ghilan'nain."

"Really?"

"Mm. Ahathriel's was Mythal."

Cullen considered this. "She knows a lot more about me than I know about her."

"She knows a lot more about all of us than we do about her," the Divine dismissed. "Every time I let down my guard and she completely surprises me. I was very worried that she would be pushed over at Halamshiral. She's normally so mild-mannered and unassuming. She's sophisticated but often says what she means; if it's unpleasant she says nothing at all, but do you remember how she distracted the Duchess? She sounded like a veteran player!"

"She definitely plays a better game than I would."

"We still hear about it. I probably should have known; the Warden also had an intuitive grasp of politics. I remember being surprised then too."

They spoke a little about the others within the Inquisitor's inner circle; Varric, up in Kirkwall, playing Viscount; Vivienne, who was somewhat of a thorn in Leliana's side now that she had assembled a Circle of her own to compete against the College; Iron Bull and Sera, doing who knew what; Blackwall, continuing to do good deeds in the name of the Grey Warden; Cole, whose whereabouts neither of them were certain about, nor could they pinpoint the last time they had seen him. Dorian had inherited his father's place in the Magisterium—Leliana was reaching out to him discretely to keep tabs on Tevinter's network, but so far the new magister was tight-lipped about any updates in that regard; Cassandra, more of a thorn in Leliana's side than even Vivienne, but ever so fondly; and Solas.

"What was going on between those two?" Cullen asked, referring to Solas and Ahathriel.

"Nothing," said the Divine.

"They were close."

"So it appeared, but it was nothing. Ahathriel was very innocent, much like the Warden, and Solas seemed to respect that. She liked spending time with him because he knew a lot about her heritage. He had been fond of her as well."

"Well, at least until he cut off her arm."

"He was," Leliana insisted gravely. "He didn't have time to pack, exactly, during the fallout. There was a drawing lost under his old bed at Skyhold."

"No," Cullen winced. "Really?" And then, "I know Solas likes drawing but this is…cheesy."

"To be honest, at first I didn't really know who it was; it wasn't a very detailed drawing. It had a pair of eyes and eyebrows, a rough outline of a mouth and one nostril. The ears were elven. She was wearing something on her head that's…rather hard to describe, it's some kind of headdress, and her face was bare. I suppose it would take more effort to draw the tattoos."

"No. Maker, Solas! Did you ever show that to her?"

"No. By then, I think that would have only brought her pain. Either way, he had betrayed her. She regarded her prosthetic with profound discomfort. Even the mention of him seemed to darken her spirits. And, to be honest, I did not want to give her reason to join his cause. She had always been diplomatic, and she stayed focused on a higher goal despite all odds, which I truly admire, but she had always valued his approval. This would have added to her conflict."

"Leliana…" Cullen hesitated, "I don't think that was your choice to make."

Leliana bowed her head, appearing to accept that. "I'm no longer on her side, Cullen," she reminded him. "I am Divine. I cannot jeopardize the welfare of my people, not over something like this. And, besides, you remember how she looked. It was hard to broach the subject, and technically I couldn't even be sure it was her. I had more reasons to withhold than to reveal. But I did tell her that I had reason to believe Solas did truly care about her; if he really is a god, his favor comes at a hefty price, as even Andraste proves."

"Well, at least you did that," Cullen allowed.

"But I will say, he took her arm but not her pride," Leliana went on. "He never even tried. So long as she did not indicate interest, he never broached the subject, even though he likely wanted to. It's to his credit, for what it's worth."

"You are a very strange person," Cullen observed.

"My goodness, Cullen, you would have made a poor spymaster."

They toasted on that with their tea.

"Solas has plans for her," Leliana told Cullen, "of that I'm sure. He left her alive. Maybe he feels that she is less of a threat with the Anchor gone, but I doubt it. Her Anchor gave her distinct abilities, but that was not what made her great, and she has more friends than I suspect even she knows. The Divine and her Right Hand. The Montilyets. The King and Queen of Ferelden. The Viscount of Kirkwall and its Champion. The Grand Enchanter of the new Circle. The Grand Enchanter of the College. The Red Jennies. A Magister of the Tevinter Imperium. Perhaps he spared her because he liked her, too, but that I also doubt. He would have done more than just take her arm. No, he has plans for her. I have a suspicion of what. If that should come to pass…she would be the greatest threat we ever face."

"She's working to defeat Fen'Harel, though."

"And the Qunari. And Tevinter. But she is currently adrift, with no ties. I confess that as a strategist, I do not like it. Ultimately," Leliana paused, and then revealed the final concern, "she can represent any side, now that the Inquisition is disbanded. We have an independent figure with influence over all of Thedas and nothing marking her political stance."

_Oh._ Cullen closed his eyes.  _This_ was what Leliana was here for. After all the talk of the compound, the Warden, reminiscing about friends, gossiping about Solas, the real reason Divine Victoria was visiting Cullen was because she needed his help. Ascending as she did had only made her more of a master manipulator.

"What will you have me do?" he asked, tones coming out guarded despite his efforts to make himself relax.

The Divine regarded him for a moment in silence. She seemed to realize that he knew.

"She is my friend," she reminded him. "And if the Maker is just, she is all that's left of the Hero of Ferelden. The tides of Thedas drift to and fro, but I don't want to lose her as an ally. Is that wrong?"

"No, but I do wish that we could help her without ulterior motives. It feels poisonous."

"I would rather act now with ulterior motives than to have to face her with the single purpose of destroying her," Leliana said flatly, though her eyes burned with a light like fire. "Tell me I am in the wrong. I am no longer on her side. I am no longer  _justified_ to choose her side over those of my Chantry. What will you have  _me_ do?"

* * *

_Horns: Did the halla pass by your pasture? -Longtail_

_Longtail: No. Want me to herd it? -Horns_

_Horns: If you can find it. There's a hunt and winner takes all. -Longtail_

* * *

Morning found Skyhold awash in white. It had snowed, and the fortress was blanketed with a layer halfway up to the knees. Beautiful as it was, traversing the compound was impossible without shoveling some paths. The King stood contemplating to the steward while his Queen straightened his cloak.

"It figures that we would sit around for decades with this place under our nose. I didn't even know this place existed."

"Your Majesty."

"They did well with this place," Queen Anora remarked as she tugged the flap out. "The Inquisitor certainly made things easier for us."

"You think we should have allowed her to stay in Skyhold?"

"Well, she didn't give us a chance to decide. Though I am relieved that she did not stay; this fortress can be used for much better purposes now that the Inquisition has vacated."

In the distance, Duncan and Elissa were examining the horses. The lad was shorter than his sister; he had yet to reach his growth spurt; he was a little late, as the healers said, but not enough to be cause for concern. The late bloomers tend to bloom just as well, if not better, and between his parents, he had little chance of remaining small.

"Someone would have to manage this place, though," the King observed thoughtfully. "Now that we know this place is here, we can hardly allow it to go untended to."

"I can think of a few people who would be suitable."

"I was thinking we can grant Ahathriel citizenship."

"She wouldn't want it." Anora laid a hand on his arm. "You may, of course, offer the gesture. I know what she means to you."

Alistair covered her hand with his own. He was still smiling, but his heart was heavy. "Ah, I'm just being silly."

It took some time for the royal couple to bond, but after fourteen years, there was no avoiding some form of understanding. Alistair would be the first to admit that Anora was a manipulative, conniving, ambitious, greedy, and vain example of a woman, but she was also capable of great nobility, and in the end she did care for her kingdom more than for herself. She had resigned herself to a life without love long ago, forever in the shadow of an inferior, and forever unvalued. Her heart was full of pain and the longing of loneliness, and someone as compassionate as Alistair could not help but soften when confronted with such misery. For her part, Anora could not help but be moved by Alistair's genuine compassion. She would have chosen a smarter man, but she would be hard-pressed to find a better one. Alistair was different from Cailan; he took nothing for granted, knew what it meant to want, to be dispensable. In the end, they would stand by each other against the world.

Anora knew from the start that there was always a place in Alistair's heart for the Hero of Ferelden. It was more bud than blossom; Mahariel had been famously chaste. Some even referenced her as "The Virgin Grey". It was hard to say whether she would ever have returned Alistair's feelings, but her death had caused him great pain. Alistair knew that Anora was insecure, and after they moved past the initial, awkward hostilities, rarely mentioned Mahariel in front of her, and never used the Warden to inflict hurt during their numerous arguments. After the Exalted Council, however, there was no way for Alistair to deny the resemblance. She was not a doppelganger by any means. Rhaeyn Mahariel was a huntress and beastmistress. Her features encompassed long, sleek lines and the assertion of the wilderness. There was always an edge to her, as if she embodied a spirit of nature; something raw and untamed, without pretension or extraneous detail. Ahathriel, in contrast, was more cultured by societal norms. Her features were softer, and though she was no less intimidating in presence, most of the time she seemed more like a pool of water, or a calm sea on a sunny day. Her smile was sweeter than the Warden's, and she was more sophisticated in her phrases and gestures. The Hero of Ferelden might have performed acceptably, but she would never have mastered The Game. Yet when the light hit just right, and her eyes focused ahead, Alistair could not help but see Mahariel in the Inquisitor. The vision was always as haunting as it was fleeting. He was unable to avoid feeling shaken every time it happened, and dwelling on it frequently at night. It was a disservice to his queen, he knew, but the heart often had a mind of its own.

"Let's get you inside," he pulled her hand off to hold it properly. "We'll take a proper look at this place once we've food in our bellies."

During lunch, a messenger came with an update to one of the officers in the hall.

"What is it?" Alistair asked, noting the man's frown.

"Your Majesty—forgive me. Just a report."

"Bring it here."

Anora was distracted with Duncan and Elissa; she had been a bit obsessive over details in the beginning, but soon afterwards, she actually left most decisions to her husband, particularly once Duncan was born.

Alistair took the note, skimming over it at first, then reading more carefully.

"Alistair?" the Queen murmured, noticing a frown developing.

"No, it's just news."

"Of?"

Alistair handed the report over. "Three items of note."

Anora's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. "'…Tevinter mages escaped the City of Amaranthine…engaged the Ben-Hassrath agents two miles north of the arling.' Stubborn of them both; the Tevinters and Qunari are both arrogant. They're going to be problems we need to address when we return to Denerim. This is from the Warden-Commander?" She turned to look at the signature.

"Courteous of him. That's not all the report says though."

"'…reports of suspicious activity in the Hinterlands…' The Inquisition  _is_ disbanded, correct?"

"Of course it is. Unless they decided to  _re_ band, or something, without Lavellan's knowledge."

"Could there be darkspawn?"

Alistair shook his head. "Doubtful. If it's darkspawn he wouldn't bother mentioning this to us. That's Grey Warden responsibility."

"The Warden-Commander wouldn't mention this unless he's worried," said Anora. "He's a very intelligent man. He obviously believes this is worth investigating." She read further, and then stated, "Elves."

The King had returned to eating.

The abrupt disappearance of all the city elves had startled everyone. Even the most bigoted humans had to acknowledge that the foundations of their society had depended a great deal on the presence of elves, and their sudden departure dealt staggering blows to both the economy and the military across Thedas. There were select individuals who remained; Anora had a suspicion they were all actually Ben-Hassrath spies. For this reason, the royal family had dismissed what elven servants were left, and elves in the army were watched more closely. Alistair did not like it, but given Ahathriel's account of her encounter with the Dread Wolf, it was a precaution they could not afford to miss.

"'…performing a ritual…unknown purpose…fled through a mirror when we attempted to accost them…'" Anora set the paper down. "That was an Eluvian, wasn't it?"

"Seems like it."

"And the elves escaped through it."

"Yes."

"If this Dread Wolf can control the network, they might have planted the Eluvian there for the Grey Wardens to find and bring back to Virgil's Keep. We should tell the Warden-Commander to destroy it."

"Hm," Alistair mused for a moment. "I can write to the Inquisitor. Ask what she thinks."

"We don't even know where she is. It was rather the point."

"Yes but I know where she's going."

"You're going to try to find her in Tevinter?" Anora raised her eyebrows again, this time at him.

"Of course not. That would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. That's on fire." Alistair turned to the messenger and hooked his finger to indicate he should approach. "Tell one of your colleagues to ready a horse and pack to go to Wycome."

* * *

_Your Imperial Majesty:_

_We traced the Inquisitor to Kirkwall, but she has departed by boat, heading east. We will continue to track her and remain apprised of your orders. Long live the Empress._

_-Commander Armand Gamache_

 


	10. Defend Clan Levallan

_She is running. The white-haired warrior is behind her. They are the halla and the wolf, and the Nightmare towers above them and around them. **Corypheus** , it booms.  **Your greatest enemy shall be slain.** The green light of her hand burns and stabs with a pain that shoots through her entire body, pulsing with each syllable._

**_Find her. Take the Anchor._ **

**_Bring her. I will draw her life with her magic to sustain me._ **

_When she falters from the agony, the elven warrior grabs her by the shoulders. She shudders, tears flowing down her face in streams._

_"Forget about me!" she shouts. "Run!"_

_But he is an undeniable force. He swings her right arm around his own shoulders and wraps his left arm about her waist. When he runs, she cannot help but go forward. Yet even so, she is slowing him down. His feet are not as light, his gait not as agile._

_"Forget about me!" she cries again._

_"No," his deep voice vibrates through her spine. "I will not owe a mage."_

_There is a shout._

* * *

 

Ahathriel startled awake at the sound of the horn.

"We're under attack," the Keeper stated instantly. "Quickly, da'len!"

It was pouring outside—what lunatics would strike in this weather? The camp was dotted with puddles. Ahathriel lit her staff to illuminate the area. On the other side, Fenris glowed bright white, moving in a blur. She could not see Zevran.

There was a rustle behind her, prompting Ahathriel to spin her staff around. A sword struck down upon her. She summoned her blade and blocked. He convulsed with the aftershocks. Spinning her staff, she struck him in the head. He went down.

There were more, however. Using the storm to her advantage, she directed the lightning down upon them. They screeched and also collapsed. Further away, she heard sounds of metal upon flesh. The other Dalish had come out.

"That's her!" someone yelled. She heard a bow being fired and spun her staff, knocking away an arrow. Aware that the low visibility would not spare her again, she quickly cast a barrier. More arrows flew toward her, but they bounced off.

" _Mamae!"_ a child screamed.

"Inquisitor," said a man, but Ahathriel did not allow him to finish. She was not in the mood for negotiating. She spun her staff and struck the bottom against the ground. More lightning pierced from above and his flesh sizzled a second later.

Fenris phased, plunging his hand into a human and then yanking it out. Blood streamed down to his elbow and dripped to mix with the water on the ground. He tossed his handful to the side and phased again, looking like a demon of death. Zevran materialized, twirling his daggers with ruthless efficiency, his face apathetic and cold.

"What in the name of the Maker is  _that?!_ " one of the humans yelled.

Keeper Deshanna mobilized roots, holding some attackers immobile while impaling others. Her control suddenly faltered, and Ahathriel saw her stumble before falling to her knees.

"Keeper!" she called out, abandoning the protection of her barrier. She ran, heart thudding in her throat. If anything happened to her—

"Da'len!" the Keeper gathered the energies of nature around her to create an impenetrable shield around her and then braced herself with her staff one heaving up to one knee. "I'm fine—they hit me in my leg, but I'll be alright!"

Another child screamed. This time, its mother did too.

"Hold it right there!" The child's captor yelled. His beard was soaked and splashed water as he turned his head. He had the girl by the throat; she could not be more than six years old, with a crown of black curls made limp with the rain. Ahathriel pointed her staff at him, but he held the child in the way. "Don't any of you move! You move and I'll break her neck!"

Suddenly, there was a hilt in  _his_ neck. His arm loosened. Fenris moved in a blaze of white light, scooping the child up and out of the way. Ahathriel turned. Zevran only had one dagger.

Bowstring sounded. Ahathriel knelt down to examine the Keeper, but Deshanna shooed her away.

"Go help the others!"

Ahathriel turned and held her staff in front of her. She closed her eyes and focused. Magic crackled around her, stretching out, filling the the air with sparks and bursts. She pushed, setting it where a collection of humans were. They yelled as they stumbled to their knees. Dalish arrows took them out.

To another side, she lifted her arm up, erecting a wall of ice and trapping humans in it. An arrow struck her prosthetic, bounding off harmlessly. Fenris phased and dove toward her attacker, solidifying inside him. There was a horrendous, sickly crack as the man's body and armor tore apart.

"They've got a freak among them! Pull back!"

The humans who were still upright started retreating. Several had fallen because of limb wounds. Several warriors chased after the ones who flew in order to ensure they left. Ahathriel went to the Keeper, who was already examining her own wound. The arrow was still embedded in her leg.

"I'm fine. Go help the others."

"No. Let me look at the leg."

"Da'len!"

Ahathriel turned to look at Fenris. He was covered with blood, but the rain was so heavy that much of it was already being washed off. "Fenris, please, can you look at the others?"

"Of course."

She turned back before realizing. "Wait—Fenris, hold on. Can you help me carry her?"

Fenris dropped down without a word, gathering the Keeper gently into his arms. Ahathriel stood upright. She was trembling from adrenaline, and felt a little lightheaded.

"Fir—um, Ahathriel!" Reva yelled. "We need your help!"

"Get her into the tent!" Ahathriel ordered, before ducking away to go to Reva.

"Give me a fast rundown," she ordered, "how does Wycome view our clan?"

"What?"

"If I send someone to the city to report this, will there be any results?"

"I'm not sure—"

"Well we need this on record, anyway. Wycome has a city guard?"

"Yes—"

"Does the city guard look after elves?"

"As much as anyone else—"

"Then go report this to their captain. Have them authorize an official investigation. We need them to see what has happened."

"But—"

"Reva, if we're going to continue to camp outside Wycome, we need to involve them," she grabbed him by the arm. "We can't interfere in matters of Wycome without allowing them to have a say here. Go find the guard captain and tell them what had happened. Tell them that we have some injured humans among us as well that we are holding on to for now."

* * *

The Keeper's wound was annoying but not life-threatening. There was one elf that was in critical condition, however. Ahathriel ended up working with a healer on her first, applying poultices and magic wherever she could. Within the hour, however, the woman's heart rate sped up, and then slowed, and then stopped. She could not be resuscitated.

No time to mourn. They moved on to the other wounded.

"What about the humans?"

"Tie them up for now."

"Things had been quiet in Wycome," one father exclaimed. "What changed?"

"Ahathriel came back."

Ahathriel bit her tongue at this and said nothing.

There were still many injuries to tend to, some of which could become septic if left untreated. She still had not even seen to the Keeper, though she was being seen by one of the two healers. Ahathriel called Fenris and Zevran over while she bandaged someone's torso with the other healer.

"How good are you at interrogation?"

The two elves looked at each other.

"Assassin," Zevran raised his hand. The healer looked startled, but they all ignored her. "Dead men don't talk. What about you, my friend?" he asked Fenris.

"…I've never done it on my own," Fenris confessed. "I've been witness to some when Hawke needed information, but I never actually  _interrogated…_ "

"Consider this a test of what you've learned," Ahathriel pointed. "I want to know who they are, who sent them, why they came, not necessarily in that order. Don't kill them; ideally we want them to stand trial, if Wycome is just. And try not to hurt them too much."

"Too much?" Zevran smiled, all pearly teeth. "You are generous, Lady Inquisitor. Come, Fenris, let's see how good of a teacher the Champion of Kirkwall was."

Fenris' face twisted in displeasure, and he lingered a bit, unsure. Zevran pulled away, however, and soon he had to follow. He cast an uncertain glance at Ahathriel. She acknowledged it without providing more encouragement; he did not need it, she felt, and would probably surprise himself. She turned back to the wounded elf, cutting the bandage to tie it.

Keeper Deshanna found her as she was finishing up, leaning heavily on her stick.

"Ma vhenan," the older mage remarked, "You look pale. Come away. The others can take it from here."

Ahathriel actually felt fine, but as she followed the Keeper back to their tent, she felt her exhaustion catching up to her. When she changed out of her still-damp clothes, her limbs felt as heavy as lead. Keeper Deshanna lent her a soft frock, which hung loosely about Ahathriel's shoulders.

Wycome's guard chose that moment to arrive.

"What are they doing here?" the War Leader wondered in a low voice.

"Well," said the short, dark-skinned, stocky fellow with tight curling hair. Ahathriel joined him and his squad after donning a cloak to protect her from the drizzle and hide how casual she looked. The human saluted her when she approached. "Inquisitor."

Somewhat surprised, she asked, "Have we met, ser?"

"Not officially, no, but I was a soldier with Commander Cullen, my lady."

"Oh."  _Well._ "Forgive me, I never caught your name."

"Captain Ben Drake, milady. Formerly of the Red platoon."

"Glad to see that you found employ in Wycome," Ahathriel said warmly. "It's always good to see a friendly face."

"Aye, milady."

Her clansmen gave her looks of curiosity. It was the first time they had seen her interact with humans.

"Some members of the culprit did not survive, unfortunately." Ahathriel was not particularly regretful, but such words did a long way to ease conversations. "We have some of the survivors contained."

"Excellent. I'll need a statement; best get this part over with, if you please, milady."

Ahathriel cleared her throat before telling the tale as best she could. They had one casualty, but twenty wounded, seven of whom were children. Their attackers honestly fared worse; fifteen were dead and they had six in custody. Captain Drake jotted the report with a frown.

"I will conduct interviews with them," he said when they were done. The hahren exchanged a glance with the war leader, though they chose not to interject.

"I have two men who are speaking with him now."

"Well, hope their tongues are loosened with that."

Fenris and Zevran were heading out from the tent as they approached, Zevran muttering something in Antivan.

"Ah, Wycome's finest, I presume?" the blonde deduced. Fenris said nothing, but folded his arms. Ahathriel shivered under her cloak; it was not  _quite_ warm enough, she was finding, to make up for the simple frock underneath. She desperately wanted to go sleep. In the chill, her nose had started running.

"What do we have?" the Captain asked.

"They call themselves the Supremacists," Zevran's voice flattened. "Apparently, this little club formed when the new Council was established. They haven't done much more than bully the occasional city elf. This was the first time they've attacked the Dalish."

"Wonderful." One of Drake's men grumbled. "All I ever wanted." There was a general murmur of agreement.

"They actually planned this," the assassin went on, "though they really only got as far as picking a time and place to meet before setting forth. Why they thought a mere thirty or so could take on an entire clan, I literally don't care to find out. Every time I think I've witnessed the dumbest objectives, I get proven wrong, so now I just don't bother trying."

"Their leader is a man named Richton," Fenris supplied. "They received orders from him, and decided to attack despite the rain as they imagined they would be less likely to alert sleeping elves to their presence."

"Which frankly did almost work," Zevran allowed. "If I hadn't been awake already, I think they would have gotten further than they did."

"They have delivered a great insult," said the hahren, "one Clan Lavellan will not soon forget."

Drake raised his hand. "I assure you, serah, they will answer for their actions, but my men and I must interrogate them for ourselves, alone, if you please."

"That—"

"Excellent, ser." Ahathriel gestured in invitation. Drake nodded to her before proceeding. After the humans disappeared into the tent, she sat down on a rock as the humans went inside the tent. She was already done with this whole affair.

* * *

Neron joined Ahathriel as they waited for the humans to finish their business. Out of all the children, she seemed most wary of Fenris. He wondered if it was because she could sense his normal outlook on mages, but then figured that it was most likely his lyrium.

Ahathriel took Neron under her wing almost reflexively, acting instantly as an older sister would. She did not seem to actually like Neron all that much, but there was a familiarity to how she looked after the child, a natural ease she straightened the girl's blankets and, when the time came, arranged her food. The humans finished interrogating the prisoners rather quickly, especially after they were primed by Fenris and Zevran, but they moved to the side to discuss amongst themselves for longer.

Yawning, Zevran declared that he was going to bed; none of them slept all night. Keeper Deshanna came to sit next to Fenris, who watched Ahathriel and Neron from where he sat, curled over his bowl of porridge.

"You stare at my apprentices, warrior," said the Keeper. "What intrigues you so?"

Fenris blinked, startled, and averted his gaze. He had no idea what to say.

Deshanna sipped her own porridge. It was still drizzling, and the steam clouded over her face. "Ahathriel is like a daughter to me. She came to the clan when she was six years old. Her mother had died; her father had not wanted to give her up, but he was compelled to. I loved her as soon as I saw her."

Fenris could believe that. This woman had essentially sacrificed another child so Ahathriel could live.

"She was well-loved by everyone in the clan, truthfully. There is no one here who would not spill blood for her sake."

Fenris met the older woman's eyes. "I would never harm her."

She blinked calmly. "She tells me you are here to help her."

"Yes."

Deshanna seemed to study him. Fenris suddenly felt as if he was bare all the way down to his bones, and she was seeing every scar, every taint, every sordid part of him. He wondered if she could tell that he had murdered just because he was ordered to, that he had lied prostrate for others to use his body as they willed, had _volunteered—_ he could already taste the bile accumulating in his throat. Many of Fenris' memories were still a whirlwind of confusion, but as assertive as he was about being taken seriously, he never had illusions about what he was made of.

"Ahathriel was never hurt, before all this." Deshanna glanced at her own left arm, as if seeing Ahathriel's prosthetic there. "She had always been…well-protected. In many ways, she is like a princess. I've always tried to shelter her as if she were one."

"She is strong. She will heal."

"I don't mean that," Deshanna looked at Fenris again. "I know she will recover. Compared to her heart, her soul, her life, a hand is nothing, and it is quite remarkably replaced. Dwarven make, she had said."

"…"

"But I worry she might not understand you," the Keeper went on. "She hasn't gone through what you have. I hope you won't hold that against her."

The thought of Ahathriel going through  _anything_ at the hands of Danarius was enough to make Fenris pale. He remembered flashes of Varania's eyes, their childhood laughter quickly stifled by orders from above that came at any moment. Doing things, to his sister, because Danarius ordered and he obeyed. She had looked so  _wretched._ That awful moment in the Fade, when he had forsaken all of his principles. Ahathriel—should never look like that.  _No. Never._

He was on his feet. So was the Keeper. Her bowl of porridge was in her left hand. Her staff was in the other. His bowl was on the ground, most of its contents spilled.

From where she sat, Ahathriel looked up and stilled when she saw the scene. Neron was still eating, but some of the other Dalish elves were watching closely. A few had their hands conveniently near their weapons.

Fenris took in a deep breath. His lungs shuddered with the cold, wet air. He bowed his head and looked down at his feet. He could not even put a name to what he was feeling. It was more than panic. More than hurt.

"No," he said in a low voice. "I won't."

He turned away from the Keeper and walked as fast as he could, away from the camp, away from everyone. He had to flee.

* * *

The Captain and his men wanted to take the captives back to Wycome. The Dalish did not want to let them go.

"Their offense is to us," said the hahren. "We should be the ones to hand out justice. It has been so in the past. The Dalish are not to be toyed with. How are we to know that you will be fair to us?"

Ahathriel rested a hand on the hahren's arm. When she was the First, it would have been out of turn to speak when her elder had already voiced his decision, but she was the Inquisitor, and she had learned some things while she was away. "Hahren, a word."

The elders convened a short distance away. Ahathriel gave a nod to Drake, who saluted with two fingers to his eyebrow.

"We need to let the humans take the captives."

"Why?"

"As a gesture of courtesy and good faith. It was why I called them in the first place."

"You called—"

"Ahathriel has worked with humans for some time," Keeper Deshanna reminded all of them. "She has been one of their most powerful leaders. I would listen to what she has to say."

"If we are to live here and have a say in how Wycome runs, we need to establish a relationship. A relationship requires communication and exchanges of favours. Their citizens attacked us, it is our right to do with them as we see fit. By giving them back their own people, however, we do them a favour and in so doing, also give them a chance to do us a favour: by dispensing these men for us. This fosters the alliance."

"How are we doing them a favour by giving them their own thugs?"

"Because thugs or not, they are of Wycome and under Wycome's protection. Until they are judged they are no more criminal than you or I—you and I both know what they did, but the rest of Wycome does not. How are they to know that we did not condemn innocent men?"

The hahren sighed. "It is not the way of the Dalish to be complacent in this matter."

"We are not being complacent, I assure you. We will be very involved, and they will know. They will know that their decision will have an impact on our alliance. I wouldn't worry. Let the captain take the men off our hands; it's one less thing for us to deal with and it's all for the better in the end."

"I agree," said the Keeper. "You all noted how the captain regards our Ahathriel. Might as well allow them to do the work they should have done in the first place."

 With the Keeper on her side, the other elders were more easily convinced. Captain Drake saluted all the elders as well as Ahathriel.

"Keeper, War Leader, Hahren, Inquisitor. We will be taking our leave." One of his men gave the prisoners a shove for good measure.

"Thank you for your help," said Ahathriel.

"Nonsense. This was our fault. It would be good to do what we can to right it." With an incline of his head, the captain pointed forward, and the humans departed. Ahathriel watched them recede. It was a little odd, receiving such gestures when she had no army to back her up.

The Keeper rested a hand against her back. "Da'len, you are shivering. Let's get you warmed up."

She sniffled. "Where did Fenris go? He's been gone for a while."

"Your nose is running," Deshanna manhandled her over to the tent. "Get inside."

"Can you get someone to look for him?"

"Of course. You were wearing only this?! Ahathriel!"

"I'm  _fine,_ "

"Foolish child," Deshanna exclaimed. "You'll catch your death of cold and you wouldn't even need any assassins or Fen'Harel."

She took off Ahathriel's cloak. Ahathriel lowered herself on the bedspread and closed her eyes. She was asleep before Deshanna even pulled the covers over her.


	11. Across the Ravine

_The terrain changed drastically as they pressed forward, shifting from desert to grassland to woodland to the sea coast. Sometimes they would step across a bridge and emerge in a dungeon, or some other building's interior where the ceiling blocked their view of the sky. Whenever this happened, Ahathriel would hold out her left hand, with its blazing mark, and silently ask if they should take their chances with teleporting. Each time, Fenris would stare back at her, refusing to give his opinion one way or another._

_He was an unpleasant companion, Ahathriel decided not long after they reached the first dungeon. Dank and sour with the smell of urine and dried blood, a few witty comments could have made the situation a lot more bearable, but Fenris remained the unsmiling, utterly joyless presence that he was, regarding everything with the omnipresent scowl that always hinted at his face, especially when he looked at her. After what seemed like long hours of going around in circles, they finally emerged to a flowery meadow. The air smelled fresh and clean, and the grass shimmered under their feet. She sat down to rest and collect her wits, and made the mistake of trying to get to know him._

_"Why do you want to know?" Fenris asked, as Ahathriel moved the fingers of her left hand in an attempt to stem the onset of pain. The mark was starting to build up again. She hoped she would not have to use it before they reached their destination._

_"Just wanted to know who I'm traveling with," she replied. "We haven't really spoken much."_

_"There's nothing to talk about."_

_"Not yet, anyway."_

_"What else do you want to know? You already saw more than you had any right to see."_

_Ahathriel stared at him. "I wasn't trying to," she said solemnly._

_"And yet you want to know more."_

_"Well if you want to level the field, you're free to ask me questions."_

_"I already learned more than I ever wanted to. Notice how I did not attempt to dig further."_

_Quite unpleasant, Ahathriel decided. Perhaps she should count herself fortunate that he was at least good enough to be more help than hindrance, or even danger._

* * *

She was awake before the tent flap opened. Though she could tell the Keeper was attempting to be quiet, it was for naught.

"Ir abelas, emm'asha," said the older woman. "You slept like a rock. I forgot to be careful."

"I was already waking," Ahathriel coughed before looking out. It was already dark. "How long was I sleep?"

"All day, and no wonder; you were awake all night."

"So were others."

"Indeed." Deshanna folded her legs to sit down. "It gladdened my heart to see you sleep so securely. You have long been away from us."

"There's something to coming home at last," Ahathriel agreed. "I feel safer here."

She had one of the finest beds in all of Thedas back at Skyhold, with goose-down pillows and a mattress that felt like a cloud, but there was no comparison. When she was the Inquisitor, so many had depended on her, and her dreams were filled with life's troubles and worries, of Dorian racing to look things up and trying to anticipate the next stunt Sera might pull and then agonizing over Blackwall, Solas, Vivienne, while Cole muttered his usual riddles and Cassandra frowned with her usual severity.

Here with her clan, she was akin to a child again. Many troubles can be pilfered off to the adults. Something about being here made her revert to her juvenile way of thinking.

Deshanna reached out to stroke her face. "Do you really have to leave?"

Ahathriel coughed and sighed. The Keeper echoed, leaning back and withdrawing her hand. "There's some food, if you are hungry."

The words made Ahathriel realize she was actually famished. "Starving," she smiled.

It had started raining again, so the food was at the main tent, set up at the center of the camp. Deshanna made Ahathriel don a thick cloak before heading out. In the tent, she was able to shed it, as it was warm and dry enough that she needed only her frock. Much of the camp was gathered there, and the interior was lit with magic; supposedly Neron's doing. The girl herself sat with the other children, playing with wooden jacks. When she looked up and saw Deshanna, her eyes lit up, but the Keeper did not notice. She was herding Ahathriel to the trays of food, gathering a bowl and assembling her entree. The girl looked a little crestfallen.

"I can gather my own supper, Keeper," Ahathriel murmured. "It's alright."

"It's alright," Deshanna repeated, with an entirely different angle, and proceeded to ignore Ahathriel's hint. The plate was soon obscenely full.

"There she is!" One of the elves exclaimed. It was a man Ahathriel had last known to be a boy. He still looked awfully young, but his ungainly limbs had filled out handsomely. "The lazy First is finally awake!"

"Let her eat first, before you tease," said a young she-elf. "Lethallan, come join us!"

She went, bearing her plate, expecting to sit down with friends and have an easy time, but once she was there she realized that, again, she did not know what to say to them. They asked about the King of Ferelden and his fair Queen, but were less interested than their questions would imply, and she, in turn, had already asked all the questions she could think of asking when she arrived. She dove into her food as a means of escape while idle gossip floated back and forth. Through this, she actually learn more than she would have if she were more proactive.

Deshanna went to pay attention to her younger charge while Ahathriel was occupied. On the other side, Fenris and Zevran were once again the subject of interest. Fenris did not seem to be enjoying the attention very much; he seemed to be staring at her a lot, though he would look away if it appeared she noticed. He had appeared less severe with the children, but seeing him now, Ahathriel saw a resemblance to the warrior elf in her scattered memories. He exuded an aura of negativity that adults seemed to pick up on more so than the children, which in itself was actually rather odd. Most of the conversation was dominated by Zevran, who seemed almost as capable a storyteller as Varric.

 _I didn't like him,_ Ahathriel mused.  _I'm pretty sure he didn't like me. If he had betrayed me to the slavers now, I certainly wouldn't forgive him. I might have even left him to his fate._ The thought troubled her, for many different reasons. She thought of sitting in judgment in the throne room, passing verdicts and punishments. Her decisions had veered towards mercy in the beginning, though she had been swayed by the comments of her Inner Circle. Towards the end, it was easy to kill with her own blade.

The food tasted like ash in her mouth. Her throat itched and swallowing made it worse. She gave up the endeavor.

The tent flap opened, and two hunters came in.

"Hahren," one called out.

The hahren looked up, and all chatter subsided.

"What is it?"

"We've a visitor. One of…the People. She is alone, however."

Said visitor stepped in then. She had black hair, coiled into a thick braid that hung over one shoulder. Her skin was fair, and her features delicate, with wide, doe-like eyes and a small nose and mouth. In the magical lighting, they appeared hazel. She wore a green cloak, though her hood was down. A wooden staff was strapped to her back.

"Aneth ara," she said, scanning the crowd. She saw Fenris, and started. "You! I did not realize…you were also here."

Everyone looked at Fenris, who stared back at the newcomer with a hint of a frown.

"Merrill," he murmured.

 _The blood mage?_ Ahathriel looked back at the woman, who seemed to lose her composure upon seeing the familiar face.  _Huh._

* * *

Fenris had only seen Ahathriel in a dress once before, and that was in the Fade.

They had been traveling for weeks, even months, from the feel of it, though time in the Fade proved to be as unreliable as everything else in it. Both elves were exhausted, and Fenris' deepest fears had been exploited countless times. Ahathriel seemed to glide right by most demons, something that had bewildered Fenris as much as it frustrated him.

Finally, she got her turn, but it was not something either of them expected.

They had stepped into a festival. There was a great bonfire, with elves dancing in a ring around it while other elves ate and drank nearby. Ahathriel was clad in a flowing white gown embroidered with green and purple. Her hair was loose, and she had a wreath of flowers and feathers around her head. Caught up in the illusion, she joined the ring around the fire and spun with the rest of them, laughing.

Fenris had been too annoyed to appreciate her beauty then. He had dragged her out, which prompted the other elves to view him as hostile. Ahathriel had been alarmed when they attacked, but she did not fully break out of the spell until the mark on her hand started hurting her.

They ultimately made it out of there, but Fenris had launched into a tirade as Ahathriel stood beside him.

_"I should have known! You are a mage, and like all mages, you submit to temptation—you are the ones most at risk and it turns out, you are the easiest to trick! Throw in some flowers, some music and song, and you give up yourself! How is it that you made it this long? I can't believe that is all it takes! Is that how magic manifests? The weakest of hearts get to touch the Fade? This explains so much—why a free mage inevitably becomes corrupt. I have never imagined—such thoroughly weak will—you were right about that boy. Would I have fared better, if he were here instead? Did a demon whisper your Keeper, knowing that you would be easier to manipulate? What will you do next? If the next demon dangles a party in front of you, you would feast like a glutton and forget everything entirely! If this is what a Dalish First is made of, no wonder Merrill turned to blood magic! You'll bleed for a bit of song and dance, is that it?"_

Ahathriel had stood silently, taking his blows without a word in retaliation. Fenris was so use to the hard front that both Merrill and Anders would present, he was taken off-guard by her silence. When he finally stopped to take a breath, he noticed that her eyes were close to spilling over.

Tears: the most formidable rebuttal of all. How absolutely cliché, but Fenris was as floored as any stammering man in one of Varric's novels.

They never spoke of that incident again, though he knew that Ahathriel had been frightened. He actually felt bad; between the two of them, Fenris had succumbed to a demon's wiles far more often, and yet Ahathriel had never berated him for it. Later on, the memory of her, so carefree and full of joy, became something he regarded with less exasperation and more fondness. Ahathriel was quite a beauty. Anyone would agree.

Now that she was back in her clan, clad in her ill-fitting frock and looking about as out of place as a Qunari would among dwarves, Fenris was struck again by how much she had changed. Without her leathers, she seemed so small, so easy to snap in half. Beautiful, but with a profound weariness. He wanted very dearly to gather her up in his arms. Her waist was so slender, her ribs so slight. Yet she seemed distant, even to her own people, and she darted worried glances at Fenris, tinged with disapproval. Far less approachable than the Halla he knew.

Then Merrill arrived. Merrill, who had given in to demons in ways Ahathriel had never done. Who had won over the hearts of Aveline and Varric with her seeming innocence and radiance. Merrill, clad in a frock of her own, more tired than Fenris had ever seen, and he was equally struck by how much Merrill had changed, how hard her face was, that light in her eyes that spoke of secret suffering. They had all changed, he realized. Perhaps this was not so strange.

"Fenris," she murmured, her entire attention on the warrior now. She crossed her arms in front of her with a confidence she had only feigned before. "I didn't expect you to be in this company. What are you doing in Wycome? I thought you'd be with Hawke."

"I was," Fenris replied. "Why are  _you_ here, Merrill?"

"I came to speak with the Inquisitor. She has disappeared, and there are many who are searching for her. I am hoping that her clan might point me in the right direction."

To her credit, Ahathriel did not reveal herself immediately. "What business do you have with the Inquisitor, Merrill, friend of Fenris?"

"The words I have I will say to the Inquisitor alone. Suffice to say, I mean her no harm."

"And why should we believe you?" Deshanna challenged. "I know you, Merrill of the Sabrae clan. Outcast, Betrayer, Consort of Demons."

Merrill's face hardened further. "I did not come here to be insulted. If you will not help, then I shall do without." She looked at Fenris. "You and I had our differences, but in the midst of battle, I always trusted you at my back. I think you did likewise. There is a temple north of here. If you can be disposed to assist, you will find me there."

Fenris said nothing. Merrill turned without another word and disappeared into the ground.

Silence reigned for a moment.

"That is powerful magic," said Ahathriel.

"She did not come by it naturally," said the Keeper.

"She's a blood mage. Of course she didn't come by it naturally," Fenris pointed out.

"It may behoove us to know what she wanted to say," said the hahren. "Perhaps our friend here can dig something out of her."

Eyes turned to Fenris, who looked at Ahathriel. Ahathriel looked skeptical.

"She's a powerful mage, blood magic or no. I hesitate to send anyone to her turf without knowing her motivations."

"We won't know her motives until we go to her turf."

"I'll go," Fenris decided. "She and I have known each other for ten years in Kirkwall. She was right: we had our differences, but we always trusted each other where it matters. If anyone can talk to her, it's me."

"People change, and it's been several years since you last saw her, I'm guessing," said Ahathriel.

"Do you have a better plan?"

"I think our brooding friend can handle himself," Zevran vouched, to Fenris' surprise. "If it will send minds at ease, I volunteer to accompany him, should something go awry."

_Oh Maker._

"If anyone should go with him, it should be me. Whatever she has to say is clearly meant for me."

"But it could be a trap," said Zevran, "and who knows what is lurking in this temple of hers."

"I didn't know there  _was_ a temple," said Deshanna, looking at the hahren. "There are no records of it."

"It wouldn't be the first time we discover a long-lost temple," the assassin declared cheerfully. "The Sabrae clan camped right next to one in the Brecilian forest without being any the wiser."

"We'll all go," said Ahathriel with a cough. "No risk, no reward."

After they finished eating, they went to retrieve their weapons. Fenris found himself sad to see Ahathriel shed her frock, but there was nothing to be done about that. Deshanna also volunteered to come, but Ahathriel persuaded her to stay with Neron. "I've handled far more dangerous encounters than a blood mage," she pointed out, which led the Keeper to sigh in concession.

And then they were off, the three of them, heading north, though with no specific direction. Zevran ended up taking point, with Fenris bringing up the rear.

"You know, she wasn't what I expected from what Varric told me," Ahathriel remarked to Fenris.

"What did you expect her to be?"

"Varric made her sound kind of clueless."

This surprised a laugh out of him. "About certain things, yes."

"He hadn't seen her in a while," said Ahathriel, coughing a little. "And he had seemed dubious about how helpful she would be."

"Well, you had said you wanted to judge for yourself."

"What do you think of her?"

Fenris was silent for a while. He had not given much thought to Merrill. He had thought about his other companions, specifically the late Anders, but Merrill had never featured strongly in his heart.

"I honestly don't know what she would do," he replied. "I never understood what went on in that head of hers. There are lines she is willing to cross that I don't feel should be crossed. But there are people worse than she."

"That's the thing about lines," said Ahathriel. "Who draws them?"

Fenris was not sure what she was talking about, so he kept silent.

"That's the thing about mages," she went on. "People are afraid of us so they want to see us abide by all these restrictions, but when the time comes they still expect us to accomplish all these things we can only accomplish without the same restrictions. Your modesty is what inspires others and makes them believe in you, your humility is what convinces people you are the Herald of Andraste; lead us, herald, Thedas needs you, but the Inquisitor is now a threat, who does she think she is, the Herald of Andraste? Magic exists to serve man, they shape you, twist and bend and cut until you are the perfect weapon, fit only for a crisis, and once the waters settle everyone else enjoys the peace you bring but there's no room for you. That was never part of the plan."

She slowed to a stop as she spoke. Fenris slowed with her. Her countenance and posture betrayed little, but he felt that she was reigning herself in. After a cough, she set forth again.

"I'm sorry," she said in a more even voice. "You didn't need to hear that."

 _But you needed me to hear it,_ Fenris thought.  _You needed someone._ He suddenly realized he could define the shadow over her, that feeling of being forsaken.

"There's room for you," he pointed out. "Hawke and Varric will make sure of it, if no one else, and if Kirkwall does not suit you at the end of this, there is the road and the sky, and we can follow the wind."

Ahathriel looked at him, and then looked away, appearing discomfited. Fenris wondered what he said wrong.

"If there is a temple here," Zevran announced from the front, "it's doing a good job of hiding."

The two elves behind him picked up their pace to catch up.

They had come onto the top of a hill. There had been a slightly worn path that approximated north, which split towards the east and west from where they stood. In front were tall trees, sparse enough that they could see nothing was hiding ahead.

"Merrill didn't say how far north," Ahathriel pointed out.

"If she means for us to go as far as Antiva, I'm doing something else," Zevran warned.

Ahathriel appeared to think for a moment. "She didn't say the temple was above ground either."

Zevran and Fenris exchanged a look.

"She has a point," Zevran acknowledged. "Given what we saw she could do, there's no reason she couldn't have gone under."

"She'd suffocate if there's no opening to the air, however," Ahathriel noted. "Look for holes in the ground, caves, anything that looks like it might exchange air."

In the end, they did find a cave after retracing their steps. It looked innocuous enough, but when Ahathriel approached, Merrill stepped out, staff in hand instead of across her back.

"I said I will speak to the Inquisitor alone," she reprimanded. "Fenris was an old friend, but I do not know you."

"I believe in being open to meeting new people," Zevran bowed, but his grin was as sharp as a dagger. "Zevran Arainai, child of Antiva, at your service, milady."

Ahathriel coughed. "Whatever you have to say to me, you might as well say in front of him. He goes where I go."

The two she-elves regarded each other.

 _She's different,_ Fenris thought. The impression was stronger now than it had been with the Lavellan clan. There, he had sensed Merrill's uncertainty, which was reminiscent of the Dalish First he knew. Here, however, she exuded a confidence that was almost foreign. For better or worse, they were in her domain, and she felt in control here. Within his gauntlet, he clenched his hand. Merrill had never struck him as willfully malicious, just woefully stupid, but he had enough experience to know that such things could not be depended on.

After a long silence, Merrill inclined her head.

"Very well, Inquisitor." She turned. "Let us speak within the temple grave. The memories of our people sleep here, and they will keep secrets." She disappeared inside the cave.

Ahathriel hesitated, before stepping up to the mouth and entering. Zevran and Fenris exchanged a look, and then followed.


End file.
